mm 


'66M 


KXX 


/.  /o".  /?", 


X"  PRINCETON,  N.  J.  '^ 


Di'vision. 


Section . 


57^7 


XC  <-v; 


I 


SERMONS. 


BT 


EGBERT   A.   HALLAM,  D.  D. 

KECTOE  OF   ST.   JAMKS'S  CHUKCH,  NEW  LONDON,  CONNECTICUT,  AND  AtTTHOB  OF   "  LECTXJBES   ON   THB 
MORNING   PRAYEK." 


PHILADELPHIA: 

HERMAN  HOOKER,  S.  W.  CORNER  CHESTNUT  AND  EIGHTH  STS. 
1856, 


Entered  According  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  hy 

HERMAN  HOOKER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


TO 

ST.  JAMES'S  CHURCH,  NEW  LONDON, 

THESE   SERMONS, 

MEMORLiLS  OF  TWENTT^ONE  TEARS  PLEASANTLY  SPENT  IN  ITS  SERVICE  BT  ONE 
BORN  AND  NCRTUEED  IN  ITS  BOSOM, 

ARE  ' 

AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED. 


CONTENTS 


SERMON   I. 


And  Lot  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  beheld  all  the  plain  of  Jordan,  that 
it  "was  well  watei^ed  everywhere,  before  the  Lord  destroyed 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  even  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord,  like  the 
land  of  Egypt,  as  thou  comest  unto  Zoar.  Then  Lot  chose  him 
all  the  plain  of  Jordan;  and  Lot  journeyed  east:  and  they  sepa- 
rated one  from  the  other.  Abram  dwelled  in  the  land  of  Canaan, 
and  Lot  dwelled  in  the  cities  of  the  plain,  and  pitched  his  tent 
towards  Sodom.  But  the  men  of  Sodom  were  wicked  and  sinners 
before  the  Lord  exceedingly, — Genesis  xiii.  10 — 13 9 

SERMON   II. 

THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

And  the  Lord  said  unto  Moses,  Make  thee  a  fiery  serpent,  and  put 
it  upon  a  pole ;  and  it  shall  come  to  pass,  that  every  one  that  is 
bitten,  when  he  looketh  upon  it,  shall  live.  And  Moses  made  a 
serpent  of  brass,  and  put  it  upon  a  pole,  and  it  came  to  pass,  that 
if  a  serpent  had  bitten  any  man,  when  he  beheld  the  serpent  of 
brass,  he  lived. — Numbers  xxi.  8,  9 20 

SERMON   III. 

SAMSON's    RIDDLE. 

Out  of  the  eater  came  forth  meat,  and  out  of  the  strong  came  forth 
sweetness. — Judges  xiv.  14 32 

SERMON   IV. 

ELI. 

For  I  have  told  him  that  I  will  judge  his  house  forever  for  the  ini- 
quity which  he  knoweth,  because  his  sons  made  themselves  vile, 
and  he  restrained  them  not.  And,  therefore,  I  have  sworn  unto  the 
house  of  Eli,  that  the  iniquity  of  Eli's  house  shall  not  be  purged 
with  sacrifice  nor  ofi"ering  forever. -rl  Samuel  hi.  13,  14 44 


VI  CONTENTS. 

SERMON  V. 

THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    DAY. 

Ye  are  all  the  children  of  light,  and  the  children  of  the  day:  we  are 
not  of  the  night  nor  of  darkness. — 1  Tuessalonians  v.  5 56 

SERMON  VI. 

RELIGION   NOT    UNMANLY. 

Now  the  days  of  David  drew  nigh  that  he  should  die ;  and  he  charged 
Solomon  his  son,  saying,  I  go  the  way  of  all  the  earth:  be  thou 
strong,  therefore,  and  show  thyself  a  man;  and  keep  the  charge  of 
the  Lord  thy  God,  to  walk  in  his  ways,  to  keep  his  statutes,  and 
his  commandments,  and  his  judgments,  and  his  testimonies,  as  it 
is  written  in  the  law  of  Moses,  that  thou  mayest  prosper  in  all 
that  thou  doest,  and  whithersoever  thou  turnest  thyself, — 1 
Kings,  ii.    1 — 3 68 

SERMON  VII. 

THE    FIRST    WAYS    OF    DAVID. 

He  walked  in  the  first  ways  of  his  father  David. — 2  Chronicles, 
XVII.  3 79 

SERMON  VIII. 

THE   WORK   AND   WARFARE    OF   LIFE. 

They  which  builded  on  the  wall,  and  they  that  bare  burdens,  with 
those  that  laded,  every  one  with  one  of  his  hands  wrought  in  the 
work,  and  with  the  other  hand  held  a  weapon.  For  the  builders, 
every  one  had  his  sword  girded  by  his  side,  and  so  builded, — Ne- 
HEMIAHIV.  17,  18 91 

SERMON  IX. 

THE   WORD   AND    THE    DREAM. 

The  prophet  that  hath  a  dream,  let  him  tell  a  dream,  and  he  that  hath 
my  word,  let  him  speak  my  word  faithfully.  What  is  the  chaff 
to  the  wheat?  saith  the  Lord,  Is  not  my  word  like  as  a  fire? 
saith  the  Lord;  and  like  a  hammer  that  breaketh  the  rock  in 
pieces? — Jeremiah  xxiii.  28,  29 104 

SERMON  X. 

MAN,    GREAT   IN   HIS    LITTLENESS. 

Am  I  a  sea,  or  a  whale,  that  thou  settest  a  watch  over  me  ? — Job 
VII.  12 116 


CONTENTS.  VU 


SERMON  XI. 

AGAINST    BORROWING  TROUBLE. 

Sufficient  unto  tlie  day  is  the  evil  thereof. — St.  Matthew  vi.  34.    12G 
SERMON  XII. 

THE  REVERENCE  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

Take  heed  that  ye  despise  not  one  of  these  little  ones. — St.  Matthew 
xvm.  10 136 

SERMON  XIII. 

OUR   CALLING. 

Let  every  man  abide  in  the  same  calling  wherein  he  was  called. — 
1  CoR.  VII.  20 146 

SERMON  XIV. 

THE    HIDDEN    LIFE. 

For  ye  are  dead,  and  your  life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God.  When 
Christ,  who  is  our  life,  shall  appear,  then  shall  ye  also  appear 
with  him  in  glory. — Colossians  hi.  3,  4 158 

SERMON  XV. 

CHRISTIAN  CONCENTRATION. 

This  one  thing  I  do.— Phil.  hi.  13 169 

SERMON  XVI. 

THE  TOUCH  OF  FAITH. 

And  Jesus,  immediately  knowing  in  himself  that  virtue  had  gone 
out  of  him,  turned  him  about  in  the  press,  and  said.  Who  touched 
my  clothes?  And  his  disciples  said  unto  him.  Thou  seest  the 
multitude  thronging  thee,  and  sayest  thou,  Who  touched  me  ? — St. 
Markv.  30,  31 179 

SERMON  XVII. 
another  heart. 
And  it  was  so,  that  when  he  had  turned  his  back  to  go  from  Samuel, 
God  gave  him  another  heai't:  and  all  those  signs  came  to  pass  that 
day. — 1  Samuel  X.  9 = 190 

SERMON  XVIII. 
unclothed  and  beclothed. 
Earnestly  desiring  to  be  clothed  upon  with  our  house  which  is  from 
heaven :  if  so  be  that  being  clothed,  we  shall  not  be  found  naked. 
—2  Cob.  v.  2,  3 202 


Vm  CONTENTS. 

SERMON  XIX. 

KIGHTEOUSNESS  ALOXE  PKOPERLY  IMMORTAL. 

And  the  world  passeth  away,  and  the  lust  thereof:  but  he  that  doeth 
the  will  of  God  abideth  for  ever. — 1  John  ii.  17 214 

SERMON  XX. 

THE  ANSWER  TO  PRAYER  RECEIVED  BY  FAITH. 

And  this  is  the  confidence  that  we  have  in  him,  that,  if  we  ask  any- 
thing according  to  his  will  he  heareth  tis :  and  if  we  know  that 
he  hear  us,  whatsoever  we  ask,  we  know  that  we  have  the  peti- 
tions that  we  desired  of  him. — 1  John  v.  14,  15 226 

SERMON  XXI. 

FEARFUL  ODDS. 

If  thou  hast  run  with  the  footmen,  and  they  have  wearied  thee, 
then  how  canst  thou  contend  with  horses?  And  if  in  the  land  of 
peace,  wherein  thou  trustedst,  they  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt 
thou  do  in  the  swelling  of  Jordan? — Jeremiah  xii.  5 239 

SERMON  XXII. 

THE  LAW  OF  LIBERTY. 

So  speak  ye,  and  so  do,  as  they  that  shall  be  judged  by  the  law  of 
liberty.— James  II.  12 252 

SERMON  XXIII. 

THE  DAILY  CROSS, 

And  he  said  to  them  all,  If  any  man  will  come  after  me,  let  him 
deny  himself  and  take  up  his  cross  daily,  and  follow  me, — St. 
Luke,  ix.  23 264 

SERMON  XXIV. 
Christ's  passion  monitory. 
For  if  they  do  these  things  in  a  green  tree,  what  shall  be  done  in 
the  dry?— St.  Luke  xxiii.  31 276 

SERMON  XXV. 

Christ's  heavenly  life. 

He  shalllive. — Psalm  lxxii.15 288 

SERMON  XXVI. 

the  state  of  the  dead. 

Man  givethup  the  ghost,  and  where  is  he? — Job  xiv.  10 300 


SERMON    I 


LOT. 

And  Lot  lifted  up  liis  eyes,  and  beheld  all  the  plain  of  Jordan,  that 
it  was  well  watered  everywhere,  before  the  Lord  destroyed 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  even  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord,  like  the 
land  of  Egypt,  as  thou  comest  unto  Zoar.  Then  Lot  chose  him 
all  the  plain  of  Jordan;  and  Lot  journeyed  east:  and  they  sepa- 
rated one  from  the  other.  Abram  dwelled  in  the  land  of  Canaan, 
and  Lot  dwelled  in  the  cities  of  the  plain,  and  pitched  his  tent 
towards  Sodom.  But  the  men  of  Sodom  were  wicked  and  sinners 
before  the  Lord  exceedingly.— Genesis  xiii.  10—13. 

Lot  is  one  of  those  persons  of  wliom  it  is  not  easy 
to  form  an  accurate  and  satisfactory  judgment.  If 
we  were  not  guided  to  a  decision  by  the  express  testi- 
mony of  Scripture,  we  might  find  it  difficult  to  deter- 
mine whether  he  ought  to  rank  among  weak  and  in- 
consistent believers  or  serious  and  well-opinioned  world- 
lings. We  hardly  know  whether  we  are  looking  at  re- 
ligion sadly  alloyed  by  the  world,  or  at  the  world 
manifestly  tinctured  with  religion.  On  one  side  we 
see  much  apparent  faith  and  goodness;  but  on  the 
other  are  evidently  great  worldliness  and  sin.  The 
object  is  ambiguous,  and  we  stand  in  doubt  of  it.  It  is 
evidently  the  unhappy  result  of  a  vicious  endeavour 
2 


10  SERMON  I. 

to  combine  the  service  of  God  and  of  mammon  ;  but 
"we  cannot  be  quite  certain  whether  the  attempt  be  to 
superinduce  the  latter  upon  the  former,  or  the  former 
upon  the  latter.  There  is  not  a  little  of  this  equivocal 
manifestation  in  the  world  in  all  ages.  Religion  de- 
based by  worldliness,  and  worldliness  disguised  by  re- 
ligion, resemble  each  other  too  nearly  to  be  readily 
distinguished.  It  is  not  indeed  our  duty  or  our  office 
to  make  this  discrimination  with  certainty  and  exact- 
ness, and  the  effort  is  oftener  prejudicial  than  salutary. 
How  to  know  tares  from  wheat  precisely  in  this  life  is 
not  the  prerogative  of  man,  and  the  attempt  to  assume 
and  exercise  it  is  more  frequently  harmful  than  pro- 
fitable. We  are  cautioned  against  any  unwise  anxiety 
to  effect  a  nice  and  certain  separation  of  them  now, 
"  lest  while  we  gather  out  the  tares  we  root  up  the  wheat 
with  them."  Both  are  to  grow  together  till  the  har- 
vest ;  and  in  the  time  of  the  harvest  the  great  Husband- 
man will  make  the  separation  with  unerring  accuracy 
and  thorough  success.  It  is  better,  rather,  so  far  as  we 
may  be  able,  to  abstain  from  even  having  opinions  about 
the  spiritual  state  of  men  any  farther  than  they  force 
themselves  upon  us  involuntarily  ;  and  then  to  enter- 
tain them  under  a  modest  sense  of  our  extreme  liabi- 
lity to  mistake,  and  with  a  recollectiqn  of  the  great 
variety  of  causes  that  may  operate  to  mislead  our  judg- 
ment and  obscure  the  truth  concerning  them.  In  the 
case  of  Lot,  however,  as  has  been  already  intimated, 
Scripture  comes  to  our  relief,  to  dispel  the  obscurity 
and  relieve  the  suspense.  It  calls  him  ^'just  Lot;" 
and  informs  us  that  while  ''dwelling  among"  the  filthy 


LOT.  11 

scenes  which  surrounded  him  in  Sodom,  he  "vexed  his 
righteous  soul  from  day  to  day  with  their  unrighteous 
deeds,"  that  he  wa&  "vexed  with  the  filthy  conversa- 
tion of  the  wicked,"  and  maintained  a  heart  right  to- 
wards God  in  the  midst  of  the  revolting  abominations 
which  obtruded  themselves  continually  upon  his  notice. 
And  this  decision  of  the  Spirit  of  God  may  teach  us 
that  our  judgment  of  men  should  always  lean  to  the 
side  of  charity.  For  if  we  had  been  left  to  the  naked 
outward  facts  of  his  life  as  they  are  detailed  in  the 
sacred  history,  and  were  destitute  of  this  inspired  dis- 
closure of  his  inward  principles  and  dispositions,  we 
might  have  felt  ourselves  strongly  impelled  towards  a 
different  conclusion.  And  this  may  serve  as  a  hint, 
that  in  other  cases  which  force  us  to  look  upon  them 
with  painful  misgiving,  or  even  sad  despondency,  there 
may  be  redeeming  attributes  which  raise  them  to  a 
better  place  in  the  Divine  estimation,  "some  good  thing 
towards  the  Lord  God  of  Israel,"  which  may  secure  at 
the  last  their  acceptance  and  approval. 

Lot  was  the  nephew  of  "faithful  Abraham,"  and  a 
partaker  of  "like  precious  faith"  with  him.  When 
Abraham,  in  obedience  to  a  divine  command,  left  the 
country  of  his  forefathers.  Lot  accompanied  him.  It 
is  probable  that  Haran,  the  father  of  Lot,  died  in  his 
youth,  and  that  Lot  was  indebted  to  Abraham  for  those 
kind  offices  which  made  up  to  him,  as  far  as  that  might 
be,  the  lack  of  parental  care  and  nurture.  Of  Abra- 
ham it  is  recorded  as  among  his  highest  claims  to  the 
approbation  and  confidence  of  God,  that  he  was  known 
to  him  as  one  who  would  "command  his  children  and 


t2  SERMON  I. 

his  houseliold  after  liim  to  keep  the  way  of  the  Lord ;" 
and  doubtless  his  practice  was  conformable  in  fact. 
AYithin  the  precincts  of  such  a  family  Lot  learned  the  sen- 
timents of  piety  and  the  maxims  of  virtue,  and  learned 
them  not  in  vain.  His  illustrious  kinsman's  instructions 
and  example  were  not  lost  upon  him.  He  was  a  believer, 
and  faith  yielded  in  him,  as  it  always  must  when  ge- 
nuine, "  the  fruit  of  good  living."  But  alas!  we  cannot 
say  that  his  faith  and  goodness  were  eminent.  The 
contrary  was  sadly  evident  in  his  history.  A  worldly 
spirit  alloyed  his  piety,  and  sometimes  cast  so  deep  a 
shadow  upon  it  as  to  veil  it  in  doubt  and  obscurity. 
Abraham  and  Lot  exemplified  in  their  experience 
that  rule  of  Providence  by  wdiich  oftentimes  even  in 
worldly  wealth,  "  godliness  has  the  promise  of  the  life 
that -now  is  as  well  as  of  that  which  is  to  come,"  and  self- 
denial  for  God  and  truth  is  recompensed  Avith  ''manifold 
more  in  the  present  time,  as  well  as  in  the  world  to  come 
life  everlasting."  Aliens  and  wanderers  in  Canaan, 
they  were  nevertheless  eminently  prosperous  men. 
Though  God  gave  his  faithful  servant  no  possession  in 
that  land,  "no,  not  so  much  as  to  set  his  foot  on,"  no- 
thing but  "a  possession  of  a  burying-place,"  yet  in 
other  wealth  he  and  his  companion  rapidly  increased  in 
opulence  and  consideration.  The  sons  of  Heth  ad- 
dressed him  as  "  a  mighty  prince."  "Abraham  was  very 
rich  in  cattle,  in  silver,  and  in  gold."  "And  Lot  also, 
which  went  with  Abraham,  had  flocks,  and  herds,  and 
tents.  And  the  land  was  not  able  to  bear  them,  that 
they  might  dwell  together:  for  their  substance  was 
great,  so  that  they  could  not  dwell  together."  This 
condition  of  outward  prosperity  proved  a  severe  trial 


LOT.  13 

of  their  principles  and  of  their  attacliment.     Hiclies 
is  an  ordeal  which  none  hut  a  sturdy  and  well-condi- 
tioned piety  can  endure.    Abraham  bore  the  test.    Lot 
failed  before  it.      They  were  surrounded  by  idolaters 
— "  the  Canaanite  and  the  Perizzite  then  dwelt  in  the 
land."    The  only  two  men  in  all  the  length  and  breadth 
of   the    country  who   knew   and   feared   God,    were 
estranged  from  one  another  by  the  enlargement  of  their 
worldly  goods.     They  needed  greatly  each  other's  con- 
tenance  and  sympathy  to  sustain  their  steadfastness 
and  consistency  in  circumstances  so  adverse  to  both. 
But  the  paltry  pelf  of  this  world  parted  them,-  and 
drove  them  asunder  to  pursue  each  his  solitary  jour- 
ney unsupported  by  counsel  or  sympathy.    Strifes  grew 
up  between  their  respective  herdmen,  either  side  con- 
tending for  the  wells  and  pasture  grounds,  which  were 
not  sufficient  to  accommodate  their  numerous  herds  to- 
gether.    Harmony  was  lost,  and  jealousies  and  recri- 
minations came  in  its  place.     The  household  of  the 
patriarch  was  divided  against  itself.    And  an  unseemly 
spectacle  of  contention  and  hatred  was  presented  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  the  idolaters,  little  commendatory  of 
th^  religion  of  whose  superior  sanctity  and  excellence 
they  were  wont  to   boast.      Abraham   saw  that  the 
honour  of  the  true  faith  was  compromised  in  the  quarrel, 
and  suggested  a  separation  as  the  deplorable  but  need- 
ful remedy  of  the  evil.     And  with  a  condescension 
and  generosity  v/hich  mark  the  magnanimity  and  un- 
selfishness of  his  soul,  he  left  the  choice  of  that  portion 
of  the  land,  within  Y>'hich  he  was  henceforward  to  con- 
fine himself,  to  Lot. 

9* 


14  SERMON  I. 

It  Tvas   now  that  the  latent  worldliness  of  Lot's 
heart  disclosed  itself.       He  eagerly  seized    the   ad- 
vantage tendered  to  him  by  his  venerable   relative, 
and  appropriated  it  to  himself  without  reluctance  or 
scruple.     He    expressed  no   pain  at   the   separation, 
no    apprehension    of    its    evil    consequences    to   him- 
self,  no  regret  at  the  privation  or  inconvenience  it 
might  cause  his  relative.     He  greedily  seized  the  offer 
as  an  opportunity  to  enhance  his  consequence  and  his 
gain.     A  more  spiritual  and  humble  temper  might  have 
shrunk  from  the  loss  of  Abraham's  company,  and  of  all 
the  benefits  of  his  counsel,  instruction  and  sympathy,  as 
the  greatest  of  misfortunes,  a  loss  poorly  compensated 
by  any  worldly  profits ;    and  drawn  back  in  dismay 
from  the  prospect  of  going  forth  alone  amidst  the  se- 
ductions of  abounding  idolatry  and  corruption.     One 
who  rated  spiritual  good  at  its  true  value  would  have 
preferred  dependence  and  comparative  poverty  in  Abra- 
ham's   household,    to   independence    and    augmented 
wealth  in  the  spiritual  wilderness  that  surrounded  it. 
Within  it,  were  truth,  holiness,  and  all  those  institutions 
and  influences  which  are  calculated  to  strengthen  faith 
and  re-enforce  virtuous  resolutions.     Without  it,  was 
nothing  that  was  not  fitted  to  debauch  the  principles, 
and  weaken  the  energy  of  virtuous  resolve  and  holy 
endeavour.    But  Lot's  religion  rose  not  to  such  a  pitch 
of  virtue.     He  welcomed  the  separation  as  the  event 
which  was    to    emancipate   him    from    restraint    and 
subordination,  and  set  him  up  as  a  separate  head  and 
chieftain.     He  did  not  even  offer  to  waive  the  option 
which  had  been  so  generously  accorded  to  him,  but 


LOT.  15 

proceeded  directly  to  a  choice.  "Lot  lifted  up  his 
eyes,  and  beheld  all  the  plain  of  Jordan,  that  it  was 
well-watered  every  where,  before  the  Lord  destroyed 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  even  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord, 
like  the  land  of  Egypt,  as  thou  comest  unto  Zoar. 
Tt.en  Lot  chose  him  all  the  plain  of  Jordan,  and  Lot 
journeyed  east ;  and  they  separated  one  from  the  other. 
But  the  men  of  Sodom  were  wicked  and  sinnersbefore 
the  Lord  exceedingly."  They  have  indeed  become  a 
proverb  of  wickedness  to  all  generations.  Yet  these 
were  henceforth  to  be  the  companions  of  Lot  and  of  his 
children.  To  these  people  his  family  allied  themselves. 
Li  their  interests  they  became  implicated,  and  learned 
to  look  with  indulgence,  if  not  with  complacency,  upon 
their  manifold  abominations,  j^o  wonder  that  his  course 
subsequently  was  downward,  and  that  his  own  history 
and  that  of  his  race  ever  after  was  deterioration  and 
disgrace,  marked  with  the  dark  characters  of  crime  and 
calamity,  moral  debasement  and  the  displeasure  of  God. 
His  choiae  evidently  was  governed  by  worldly  conside- 
rations. He  sacrificed  spiritual  for  temporal  good. 
Ease,  plenty,  splendour  fascinated  his  eyes,  and  warped 
his  judgment.  Alas !  at  how  dear  a  price  were  they 
gained.  If  the  grace  of  God  preserved  him  from  utter 
apostacy,  "and  kept  him  a  name  among  them  that  are 
written  in  heaven,"  it  is  a  name  blotted  and  blurred 
with  more  of  sin  than  almost  any  of  whom  inspiration 
makes  on  the  whole  honourable  mention.  He  was  years 
after  taken  captive  in  an  assault  on  the  city,  and  only 
rescued  from  destruction  by  the  magnanimous  inter- 
vention of  Abraham.     When  at  last  the  iniquity  of 


16  SERMOfer  I. 

Sodom  was  full,  he  with  his  daughters  was  delivered 
from  the  awful  destruction  that  involved  it  by  angelic 
messengers  sent  in  answer  to  Abraham's  prayer.  He 
indeed  escaped ;  but  his  wife,  influenced  by  a  lingering 
attachment  to  the  pleasures  they  were  leaving  behind, 
''looked  back  and  was  turned  into  a  pillar  of  salt." 
^'Kemember  Lot's  wife,"  remains  a  permanent  and 
solemn  warning  of  the  word  of  God.  His  daughters 
soon  gave  evidence  of  the  contaminating  effect  of  the  in- 
fluences to  which  they  had  been  exposed.  They  se- 
duced him  into  sin,  and  left  him  no  posterity  but  one  dis- 
honoured with  the  infamy  of  incest.  His  descendants 
were  idolaters ;  and  "  the  children  of  Lot,"  the  Ammon- 
ites and  Moabites,  till  they  disappear  from  the  records 
of  history,  continued  to  be  among  the  most  determiaed, 
bitter,  and  inveterate  enemies  of  the  Church.  Such 
mischief,  so  terrible,  manifold  and  endm^ing,  accrued 
from  his  evil  choice. 

This  is  a  sad  spectacle,  but  there  is  nothing  peculiar 
in  it.  It  is  not  a  picture  of  an  age,  but  of  all  ages. 
It  is  to  be  seen  in  this  modern  world  of  ours,  as  it  was 
in  that  ancient  one  of  the  patriarchs.  It  is  every- 
where, on  every  side.  Yes,  here  in  our  midst,  are  men 
who  have  souls,  and  do  not  deny  that  they  are  immor- 
tal, who  are  compromising  the  welfare  of  the  soul  for 
some  glittering  bauble,  and  sacrificing  the  good  of  eter- 
nity to  the  good  of  time.  The  world  has  many  a  scene 
beautiful  and  fertile  as  the  vale  of  Sodom;  and  too 
many  stand  ready  to  go  down  into  it  and  dwell,  without 
stopping  to  inc|uire  what  is  to  become  of  them  and 
their  children  in  that  day  when  "  the  wrath  of  God 
shall  be  revealed  from  heaven."     Men  either  irtferly 


LOT.  17 

sunken  in  worldliness,  or  Christian  men  of  feeble  faith 
and  ill-established  principles,  having  th^i>  religion 
sadly  debased  by  admixtures  of  worldly  alloy,  are  con- 
tinually making  Lot's  choice  and  reaping  Lot's  reward. 
Yes,  how  often  do  we  see  men  of  whom  we  would  fain 
think  well,  foregoing  spiritual  good  for  secular  advan- 
tages. Some  are  making  alliances  with  persons  of  false 
creeds  or  corrupt  principles  or  sinful  habits,  or  at  the 
best  destitute  of  the  fear  of  God,  and  exposing  them- 
selves to  the  pollution  of  such  associations,  for  some 
gain  of  wealth  or  position,  or,  it  may  be,  for  little  more 
than  the  mere  delight  of  the  alliance  itself.  Others  are 
going  away  from  the  company  of  good  men,  relinquish- 
ing the  ordinances  of  God's  house,  and  withdrawing 
from  the  restraints  and  privileges  of  virtuous  and  en- 
lightened society,  to  go  where  there  is  "  a  famine  of 
hearing  the  word  of  the  Lord,"  to  lands  that  ''sit  in 
darkness,"  where  Christ  is  unknown  or  his  name  dis- 
honoured by  superstition  and  error,  to  acquire  riches,  to 
make  themselves  a  name,  to  secure  some  sort  of  earthly 
advantages.  Of  how  much  less  importance  in  choosing 
our  place  of  habitation  than  they  should  be  with  Chris- 
tian men,  are  wont  to  be  the  privileges  of  the  Church, 
the  tone  of  moral  feeling,  and  the  opportunities  of  re- 
ligious improvement  !  Men  recklessly  send  their  chil- 
dren, in  pursuit  of  accomplishments,  or  of  something 
that  will  bear  only  on  their  earthly  weal,  to  be  edu- 
cated by  those  whose  influence  will  either  operate  to  lead 
them  astray  from  the  paths  of  truth  and  holiness,  or  at 
the  best  will  interpose  no  effectual  check  to  prevent  their 
wandering  from  them.  And  now  what  is  it  to  com- 
plain, if  their  offspring  walk  in  the  paths  of  falsehood 


18  SERMON  I. 

or  of  sin,  but  to  murmur  that  tliey  "  do  not  gather 
grapes  of  thorns  and  figs  of  thistles?  " 

Our  subject  addresses  itself  with  especial  force  to 
two  classes  of  persons.  To  parents.  The  mischief  of 
Lot's  mischoice  fell  far  less  heavily  upon  himself  than 
on  his  posterity.  He  was  preserved  from  utter  de- 
fection, and  saved,  though  "so  as  by  fire."  But  what 
ray  of  hope  beams  from  the  fife  or  death  of  his  de- 
scendants ?  So  God  is  wont  to  "visit  the  sins  of  the 
fathers  upon  the  children  unto  the  third  and  fourth  ge- 
nerations." His  virtue  had  grown  hardy  enough  to 
resist  evil  before  he  went  to  Sodom.  But  his  children, 
born  there  or  reared  there,  found  in  the  atmosphere  a 
moral  pestilence,  which  the  influence  of  his  example 
was  altogether  insufficient  to  counteract.  When  you 
are  forming  your  associations,  selecting  your  residence, 
choosing  your  line  of  business,  fixing  your  habits  of 
life,  or  when  you  are,  by  the  selection  of  their  teachers 
and  companions,  or  by  other  means,  so  far  as  you  may, 
determining  the  influences  under  which  the  characters 
of  your  children  are  to  be  formed,  remember  that  they 
are  eternal  things,  that  the  fate  of  unborn  millions 
may  be  hanging  on  your  acts,  lest  your  children,  reared 
through  your  silly  choice  in  Sodom,  and  perishing  with 
Sodom,  rise  up  in  the  awful  judgment  and  pronounce 
you  the  authors  of  their  ruin. 

Finally,  the  young  are  deeply  concerned  in  this  matter. 
Inevitably  they  are  called  to  some  such  choice  as  Lot's ; 
and  if  they  choose  like  him,  they  must  reap  the  disas- 
trous consequences.  If  they  maintain  any  religious 
character,  it  will  be  with  difficulty,  it  will  afford  them 
little  comfort,  it  will  shine  with  feeble  light  on  others. 


LOT.  19 

There  is  a  contest  of  spiritual  and  worldly  objects  for 
th(Mr  choice.  If  thej  choose  the  latter,  why  then  the 
world  is  their  portion,  and  it  and  they  will  perish  to- 
gether. Or  if  their  choice  of  the  former  be  not  thorough 
and  decided,  why  then  the  world  will  always  be  a  mi- 
serable element  in  their  religion,  to  alloy  it,  deprive  it 
of  beauty,  vigour  and  influence,  and  render  their  cha- 
racter and  destiny  questionable  and  precarious.  We 
do  not  disguise  from  them  that  religion  does  involve 
Belf-denial  and  the  renunciation  of  the  world.  They 
must  turn  away  from  the  flowery  vale,  towards  some 
region  less  attractive  to  the  eye,  less  richly  stocked 
with  the  means  of  immediate  pleasure.  Yet,  it  is 
written  that  "godliness  with  contentment  is  great  gain," 
yes,  far  the  greatest  gain,  and  even  in  this  world,  in  the 
lengthened  experience  of  life. 

Choose,  then,  my  brethren,  whom  you  will  serve. 
And  choose  with  no  half  choice.  Give  your  hearts  to 
the  Lord  freely,  generously,  fully.  Let  'the  salvation 
that  is  in  Christ  Jesus  stand  unrivalled  in  your  esteem 
and  your  afi*ections.  The  stream  of  time  will  soon 
bear  you  to  the  great  ocean  of  endless  and  unchange- 
able being.  Then,  when  life  is  ebbing  to  its  close,  you 
will  know  the  blessedness  of  having  chosen  eternal 
good,  and  having  chosen  it  firmly,  unreservedly  and 
finally.  And  as  earth  fades  from  your  sight,  there 
shall  open  to  you  an  entrance  into  that  world,  where 
the  river  of  the  water  of  life  flows  for  ever,  and  the 
tree  of  life  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  paradise  of 
God,  with  leaf  that  never  withers,  and  fruits  that  never 
decay,  shall  spread  over  you  its  everlasting  shadow, 
and  fill  you  vvilh  unending  bliss. 


20  SERMON  II. 


SERMON  II. 

THE   BRAZEN   SERTENT. 

And  the  Lord  said  unto  Moses,  Make  thee  a  fiery  serpent,  and  put 
it  upon  a  pole ;  and  it  shall  come  to  pass,  that  every  one  that  is 
bitten,  -svhen  he  looketh  upon  it,  shall  live.  And  Moses  made  a 
serpent  of  brass,  and  put  it  upon  a  pole,  and  it  came  to  pass,  that 
if  a  serpent  had  bitten  any  man,  when  he  beheld  the  serpent  of 
brass,  he  lived. — Nujibers  xxi.  8,  9. 

That  this  is  a  type  we  might  be  entitled  to  infer 
from  the  figurative  and  prophetic  character  of  the  sys- 
tem under  which  it  found  place.  But  we  have  besides 
the  explicit  testimony  of  our  Lord  himself:  ''As  Moses 
lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness,  even  so  must 
the  Son  of  Man  be  lifted  up ;  that  whosoever  believeth 
in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life." 
There  are  evident  and  striking  resemblances  here,  and 
they  are  not  resemblances  of  accident,  not  such 
resemblances  as  fortuitously  arise  by  recurrence  of 
like  conjunctures  in  the  course  of  ages,  but  resem- 
blances impressed  by  the  finger  of  God,  for  a  solemn 
purpose,  provided  for  in  the  antecedent  with  a  skil- 
ful foresight,  and  wrought  out  in  the  fulfilment  with 
a  faithful  accuracy.  And  therefore  in  tracing  and 
pondering  them,  we  shall  not  be  amusing  ourselves 
with  ingenious  fancies,  but  seeking  "  the  mind  of  the 
Spirit,"  and  drawing  from  it  the  instruction  and  pro- 
fit it  was  intended  to  convey.  And  thus,  viewed  in  a 
spirit  of  reverence  and  sobriety,  I  think  we  shall  find 


THE  BRAZEN  SERPENT.  21 

this  type  a  topic  eminently  fitted  to  guide  our  medita- 
tions on  this  solemn  day.* 

There  is  before  us  then  a  parallelism.  Two  things 
are  to  be  set  side  by  side  in  order  that  we  may  note 
their  coincidences,  and,  viewing  these  not  as  accidental 
but  divine,  gather  from  them  knowledge,  and  such 
impressions  as  may  tend  to  enliven  and  re-enforce  the 
life  of  grace  in  our  souls.  We  have  the  brazen 
serpent  lifted  up  in  the  wilderness,  and  we  have  Christ 
lifted  up  upon  the  cross,  presented  to  our  view  to- 
gether ;  that  by  the  study  of  the  former,  we  may  the 
better  understand  the  latter,  and  from  the  comparison 
learn  more  clearly  what  our  need  is,  what  our  remedy, 
and  what  its  appropriation.  With  this  view  I  shall 
point  your  attention  to  three  coincidences  of  the  type 
and  the  antitype,  in  the  examination  of  which,  we 
shall,  if  not  exhaust  our  subject,  at  least,  it  is  thought, 
draw  from  it  the  principal  items  of  instruction  which 
it  contains.  Let  us  look  then  at  the  need,  the  remedy, 
and  the  appropriation. 

1.  The  need.  The  Israelites  had  almost  completed 
their  forty  years'  journeying  in  the  wilderness,  and 
■were  near  the  confines  of  Canaan.  Aaron  had  just 
died  on  Mount  Hor,  and  his  son  Eleazar  had  assumed 
the  priestly  office  in  his  stead.  But  now,  when  a  few 
more  stages  in  a  direct  course  would  have  brought 
them  to  the  borders  of  Canaan,  they  were  compelled 
once  more  to  diverge  from  it  in  order  to  make  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  land  of  Edom,  whose  king  refused  them 
permission  to  pass  through  his  country,  and  whose 
*  Good  Friday. 

3 


22  SERMON  II. 

territorial  rights  they  were  commanded  sacredly  to 
respect.  The  change  was  disheartening,  and  might 
be  the  prelude  of  they  knew  not  what  prolongation  of 
their  trials.  A  whole  generation  had  fallen  in  the 
wilderness ;  and  of  all  those  who  forty  years  before 
had  raised  the  song  of  triumph  on  the  shore  of  the  sea 
not  far  from  the  spot  where  they  were  then  standing, 
not  one  remained  but  Moses  and  Joshua  and  Caleb. 
Nearly  half  a  century  consumed  in  wearisome  wander- 
ings over  sterile  wastes,  had  done  little  more  than  bring 
them  back  to  their  original  point  of  departure.  And 
now  again  the  command  was  given  to  turn  back.  They 
were  not  to  proceed  immediately  along  the  shore  of 
the  sea,  but  to  compass  the  land  of  Edom.  Perhaps 
this  was  the  beo;innino:  of  a  new  course  of  wanderinf]js, 
in  which  that  generation  was  to  meet  the  fate  of  its 
predecessor.  The  thought  filled  them  with  terror. 
"  The  soul  of  the  people  was  much  discouraged  because 
of  the  way.  And  the  people  spake  against  God,  and 
against  Moses,  Wherefore  have  ye  brought  us  up 
out  of  Egypt  to  die  in  the  wilderness  ?  for  there  is  no 
bread,  neither  is  there  any  water;  and  our  soul 
loatheth  this  light  bread."  The  rebellious  and  com- 
plaining spirit  of  the  fathers  dwelt  in  the  children. 
The  hearts  of  men  are  evil,  and  the  discipline  of  out- 
ward experience  alone  will  never  amend  them.  "  And 
the  Lord  sent  fiery  serpents  among  the  people,  and 
they  bit  the  people;  and  much  people  of  Israel  died." 
The  people  now  confessed  their  sin,  and  besought  the 
interposition  of  Moses,  and  Moses  prayed  for  them. 
And  God  graciously  sent  them  a  remedy.     They  were 


THE  BRAZEN  SERPENT.  23 

bitten  with  fiery  serpents,  and  the  bite  Tvas  fatal. 
There  was  no  remedy  known  to  man  that  could  coun- 
teract the  venom.  Human  skill  was  powerless  against 
it.  The  camp  was  strewn  with  livid  corpses.  On 
every  side  were  heard  cries  of  terror,  groans  of  an- 
guish, and  shrieks  of  lamentation.  The  dead,  the 
dying  and  the  bereaved  were  all  around;  and  none 
knew  how  soon  they  would  be  called  themselves  to 
share  the  fate  of  the  smitten,  or  see  the  objects  of 
their  affection  stricken  down  at  their  side.  Death  was 
making  fearful  havoc,  and  all  was  consternation  and 
dismay.  The  cause  of  this  suffering  was  the  presence 
of  fiery  serpents  in  the  camp.  Perhaps  they  were 
fiery  in  appearance,  ruddy  and  sparkling,  and  as  they 
shot  fiercely  and  rapidly  around,  moving  over  the  open 
spaces  of  the  camp,  and  gliding  beneath  the  tents, 
seemed  to  the  panic-stricken  people  like  living  flames 
of  fire.  Their  bite  too  was  inflammatory,  and  its 
poison  injected  into  men's  veins  consumed  them  with 
raging  fever,  and  tormented  them  with  burning  thirst. 
Such  was  the  exigency  that  had  arisen.  Destruction 
threatened  Israel,  and  nought  but  the  almighty  com- 
passion of  Him  who  in  wrath  remembers  mercy  could 
avert    its   stroke. 

Our  case  is  analogous,  far  more  nearly  so  than 
unthinking  men  are  wont  to  realize.  Evils  are 
not  by  any  means  to  be  computed  by  their  conspi- 
cuousness.  Unseen,  insidious  dangers  are  not  the 
smallest.  Evils  which  "  assault  and  hurt  the  soul," 
which  destroy  its  health,  and  plant  in  it  the  seeds 
of  decay  and  ruin,  are  by  no  means  those  which 
do  the  least  present  harm,  or  betoken  the  least  ulti- 


24  BERMON  II. 

mate  miscliief.  Nay,  as  they  affect  that  substance 
which  is  far  more  the  self  of  man  than  any  thing  that 
is  material  and  outward,  which  is  the  seat  of  our  higher 
life,  and  immortal  in  its  nature,  they  are  far  more  inju- 
rious and  destructive  than  any  "  adversities  that  may 
happen  to  the  body."  "Their  poison  is  as  the  poison 
of  a  serpent"  to  that  which  can  never  die  and  find 
respite  in  unconsciousness ;  for  the  death  of  the  soul  is 
not  the  end  of  life,  but  the  end  of  all  that  is  good  in 
life,  life  that  is  nought  but  a  curse.  Nay,  it  is  the 
poison  of  a  serpent,  even  of  "  that  old  serpent  called 
the  devil  and  Satan,"  the  venom  of  whose  bite  has 
sent  the  diffusive  virus  of  sin  and  misery  down  from 
the  first  parents  of  the  human  race,  through  the  suc- 
cessive generations  of  their  posterity  in  all  their  wide- 
spread dispersions,  a  congenital,  universal,  cleaving 
evil,  making  them  all  from  their  birth  "children  of 
wrath,"  "  deserving  in  every  man  born  into  the  world 
God's  wrath  and  damnation,"  filling  all  with  "  a  certain 
fearful  looking  for  of  judgment,"  and  plunging  them 
at  last  "into  the  bitter  pains  of  eternal  death."  Ah! 
the  smitten  Israelites  in  the  desert,  languishing, 
writhing,  moaning,  dying,  are  but  a  faint  sample  and 
emblem  of  the  condition  of  universal  humanity,  faint- 
ing, suffering,  perishing,  under  the  envenomed  stroke 
of  sin. 

2.  The  Remedy,  This  the  text  describes.  "The 
Lord  said  unto  Moses,  Make  thee  a  fiery  serpent,  and 
set  it  upon  a  pole;  and  it  shall  come  to  pass,  that 
every  one  that  is  bitten,  when  he  looketh  upon  it,  shall 
live.  And  Moses  made  a  serpent  of  brass,  and  put  it 
upon  a  polo,  and  it  came  to  pass,  that  if  a  serpent  had 


THE  BRAZEN  SEIIPE^'T.  25 

bitten  any  man,  when  he  beheld  the  serpent  of  brass 
he  lived." 

There  are  several  things  here  deserving  of  special 
notice.  The  means  of  cure  were  arbitrary;  they 
owed  all  their  efficacy  to  God's  authority.  He  had 
established  no  ordinary  connexion  between  the  instru- 
ments he  employed,  and  the  end  to  be  accomplished. 
There  was  nothing  curative  in  their  nature  or  their 
form.  Neither  the  wood  nor  the  brass  were  medici- 
nal, alone  or  in  combination ;  nor  did  they  become  so 
under  any  natural  law,  the  one  by  being  set  upright 
in  the  ground,  or  the  other  by  being  fashioned  into 
the  figure  of  a  serpent.  They  cured  by  a  special  com- 
mission ;  and,  that  special  commission  withdrawn,  they 
fell  back  into  the  ordinary  condition  of  things  of  a 
like  nature.  The  brazen  serpent  was  long  preserved 
among  the  Israelites  as  a  memorial  of  its  temporary 
potency,  but  only  as  a  curiosity,  not  as  a  medicine. 
It  was  kept  merely  as  an  interesting  historical  relic ; 
and  when  at  last  it  became  an  object  of  superstitious 
veneration,  it  was  destroyed  in  the  reign  of  King 
Hezekiah.*  Now,  this  serpent  lifted  up  upon  a  pole 
was  an  image  of  the  crucifixion.  So  said  our  Lord 
himself:  "As  Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilder- 
ness, even  so  shall  the  Son  of  Man  be  lifted  up;"  and 
accordingly  "he  bare  our  sins  in  his  own  body  on  the 
tree."  An  upright  beam  of  wood  in  either  instance  was 
the  medium  of  man's  deliverance,  and  the  burden  which 
it  bore  brought  healing  to  suffering  and  dying  men. 
Now  it  is  but  indistinctly  that  w^e  perceive  the  connex- 

^  2  Kings,  xviii.  -1. 

3* 


26  SERMON  II. 

ion  between  the  death  of  Christ  and  the  salvation  of 
men.  "VYe  have  theories  upon  it  of  greater  or  less 
speciousness  and  value.  But  we  cannot  affirm  them 
certain  and  true.  Our  faith  finally  rests  on  the  appoint- 
ment of  God,  an  appointment  not  arbitrary,  but  resting 
on  reasons  of  the  highest  fitness:  reasons,  however,  not 
perfectly  revealed.  There  is  healing  virtue  in  the 
cross,  because  God  has  commissioned  it  to  heal.  "  The 
preaching  of  the  cross  is  to  the  Jews  a  stumbling- 
block,  and  to  the  Greeks  foolishness;"  an  offence  to 
human  pride  and  earthly  wisdom;  "but  to  them  that 
are  saved  it  is  the  power  of  God,"  because  it  is  the 
appointment  of  God,  and  God  honours  it  and  gives  it 
success,  xind  he  who  hung  upon  the  cross  is  Jesus, 
the  Saviour  of  men,  because  "God  so  loved  the  world 
that  he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever 
believeth  in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting 
life."  This  is  the  solution.  Would  created  wisdom 
ever  have  thought  of  such  a  way?  It  was  God's  will 
and  wisdom — and  his  will  and  his  wisdom  are  always 
one — and  therefore  it  saves. 

Again,  the  healing  substance  w^as  fashioned  into 
the  similitude  of  the  evil  it  was  appointed  to  cure. 
The  brass,  so  far  as  its  own  nature  went,  was  as 
medicinal  in  one  form  as  another;  but  by  God's  direc- 
tion it  assumed  the  form  of  a  serpent.  There  it 
stood  in  the  likeness  of  a  serpent  to  save  from  death 
those  whom  a  deadly  serpent  had  bitten.  What  is 
this  but  "  God  sending  his  Son  in  the  likeness  of  sin- 
ful fiesh,  and  for  sin?"  He  took  our  nature  upon 
him,  and  was  "  found  in  fashion  as  a  man ;"  and  though 
"he  knew  no   sin,"   "God  made  him   to  be  sin,  for 


THE  BRAZEN  SERPENT.  27 

US,"  and,  becoming  the  substitute  of  sinners,  be  was 
putatively,  forensically,  a  sinner,  and  was  so  ad- 
judged, sentenced  and  punished.  Thus,  not  indeed 
in  the  form  of  that  nature  that  had  brought  death,  but 
of  that  into  which  death  had  so  entered,  that  by  the 
diffusion  of  its  poison  it  had  become  sadly  assimilated 
and  united  to  the  source  of  its  debasement  and  misery, 
he  came  to  do  away  the  mischief,  and  say  to  that 
wronged  and  infected  nature,  "Be  whole  from  thy 
plague."  And  thus,  in  appearance  a  child  of  the 
wicked  one,  having  the  nature  of  those  who  are  indeed 
his  children,  standing  in  their  stead,  charged  with  their 
offences,  did  the  Seed  of  the  woman,  in  seeming  the 
seed  of  the  serpent,  live  on  earth  and  die,  "  by  death 
to  destroy  him  that  had  the  power  of  death,  that  is, 
the  devil,"  and  in  the  guise  and  character  of  the  ser- 
pent's evil  progeny,  to  bruise  the  serpent's  head.  And 
thus  was  He,  the  Healer,  the  Restorer  of  men,  lifted 
up  among  men,  that  "whosoever  of  them  believeth  in 
him  should  not  perish,  but  have  eternal  life." 

3.  The  appropriatiQn.  This  was  individual.  So 
Hooker  well  says,  "  God  in  Christ  is  generally  the  medi- 
cine which  doth  cure  the  world,  and  Christ  in  us  is 
that  receipt  of  the  same  medicine,  whereby  we  are 
every  one  particularly  cured."  There  was  a  universal 
remedy,  but  a  discriminating  cure.  "  It  shall  come  to 
pass,  that  when  a  serpent  has  bitten  any  man,  when 
he  shall  look  upon  it,  he  shall  live."  The  provision  of 
God  made  it  a  conditional  remedy ;  the  act  of  man,  an 
effectual  one.  Whosoever  looked  lived.  This  was  a  pur- 
posed look.    The  serpent  of  brass  stood  in  the  camp,  the 


28  SERMON  II. 

great  centre  of  attraction  to  the  terrified  and  suffering 
inmates ;  and  there  was  not  a  wretch  in  all  its  precincts 
tormented  with  the  poison  in  his  veins,  who  could  crawl 
to  his  tent  door,  and  cast  his  eyes  upon  it,  who  did 
not  instantly  experience  its  healing  power,  and  feel  in 
himself  that  he  was  w^hole  of  his  plague.  The  cure 
was  immediate,  complete  and  permanent.  Not  one 
died  that  looked.  And  not  one  that  did  not  look  did 
not  die.  For  again,  as  it  was  the  means  of  cure,  so 
it  was  the  sole  means.  If  any  smitten  Israelite  began 
to  rationalize,  and  say  what  virtue  is  there  in  a  ser- 
pent of  brass?  what  good  can  it  do  me  to  go  and  look 
upon  it?  nothing  remained  for  him  but  to  languish  on 
in  his  pride  and  skepticism  and  stubbornness,  and  in 
the  end  to  die.  And  it  was  no  casual  looking  that 
would  save ;  it  must  be  a  looking  of  purpose  and  inten- 
tion, the  looking  of  a  man  who  came  to  look.  No 
wandering  eye  that  fell  upon  it  by  accident  drew  vir- 
tue from  it,  nor  any  glance  of  idle  curiosity  or  scornful 
indifference,  but  only  the  look  of  an  obedient  faith, 
that  saw  in  it  God's  ordinance  of  curing,  and  submitted 
to  it  with  a  grateful  simplicity  of  soul.  It  was  not 
being  in  the  camp  where  it  was ;  this  made  it  but  a 
possible  salvation.  It  was  not  proximity  to  it.  An 
inmate  of  the  tent  that  stood  nearest  to  that  wondrous 
beam  and  brass,  if  he  refused  to  look,  died  just  as 
certainly  as  he  whose  station  was  remotest.  It  was 
looking,  simply  looking,  and  nothing  else  but  looking, 
nothing  more,  nothing  other. 

Jesus  is  lifted  up  that  he  may  draw  all  men  unto  him, 
and  all  men  are  urged  by  their  need  to  come  to  him  for 


THE  BRAZEN  SERPENT.  29 

salvation.     "Neitlier  is  there  salvation  in  any  other; 
for  there  is  none  other  name  under  heaven  given  among 
men  whereby  we  must  be  saved."     The  yearning  hearts 
of  men,  longing  to  be  rid  of  the  plague  that  is  consuming 
them,  turn  to  him  as  to  a  common  centre,  whence  alone 
the  healing  of  their  plague  is  to  come  forth.    And  they 
are  cheered  in  their  approaches  by  an  inviting  voice, 
''Look  unto  me  and  be  saved,  all  the  ends  of  the  earth." 
The  great  camp  of  our  common  humanity  in  all  its 
outspread  expansion  resounds  with  that  cry  of  mercy, 
and  there  is  not  one  of  all  whom  it  encompasses  to 
whom  it  may  not  be  as  life  to  the  dead.     The  virtue 
of  the  symbol  was  inexhaustible;  so  is  that   of  the 
reality.    It  could  cure  millions  as  easily  as  one.    Of  the 
thousand  eyes  simultaneously  directed  to  it,  each  one 
equally  drew  forth  its  power.     And  when  a  new  crovfd 
of  lookers  came,  they  found  it  just   as  much  in   the 
prime  and  plenitude  of  its  curative  efficacy,  as  though 
none  had  gone  before  them.     Jesus  is  never  weary  of 
saving  men,  nor  is  his   saving  energy  diminished  by 
exercise   or  by  time.     The   cross  has  lost  nothing  by 
being  in  our  world  so  long.     It  is  as  good  to  us,  as  to 
those  who  stood  around  it  in  Golgotha.    But  men  must 
look  at  it.     The  idea  that  it  saves  men  in  a  mass  by 
being  in  the  world  they  inhabit  is  a  miserable  delusion. 
So  did  not  the  brazen  serpent  cure  the  smitten  Israel- 
ites.    There  was  room  for  men  to  die,  if  they  tvoidd, 
after  its  erection  as  before,  but  onl?/  if  they  would. 
Nor  will  the  cross  save  any  man  by  that  sort  of  prox- 
imity to  it  which  is  obtained  by  being  in  the  Church. 
Men  in  the  Church  must  looJc,  or  it  will  be  nothing  to 
them.     And  some  poor  heathen  who  catches  a  distant 


80  SERMON  II. 

view  of  it  in  his  wide  removal,  may  rise  in  the  judg- 
ment, to  condemn  those  ^'before  whose  eyes  Jesus 
Christ  has  been  set  forth,  evidently  crucified  among 
them;"  for  he  with  strained  and  painful  vision  saw  him 
afar  off  and  was  glad,  and  they,  caught  by  objects 
more  attractive  to  their  worldly  hearts,  turned  on  him 
no  look  of  thoughtful  attention  and  grateful  reliance. 
It  is  looking,  "looking  unto  Jesus,"  that  saves  men.  For 
*'this,"  says  Jesus  himself,  "this  is  the  will  of  Him 
that  sent  me,  that  every  one  that  seeth  the  Son  and 
believeth  on  him,  may  have  everlasting  life."  To  what 
purpose  is  it  then  that  we  hear  of  the  cross,  and  that 
the  cross  is  displayed  where  we  are?  All  this  brings 
the  cross  into  no  such  relation  to  us  that  it  saves  us, 
can  never  transport  the  virtue  that  is  in  it  to  us,  and 
make  it  in  us  a  virtue.  Faith  is  a  second  vision,  the 
vision  of  the  soul.  "The  evidence  of  things  not  seen," 
it  is  to  us  as  though  we  saw  them.  It  brings  them  to 
us,  sets  them  before  us,  informs  us  what  they  are,  and 
calls  forth  our  hearts  in  answering  sentiments  and 
affections.  We  are  to-day  gathered  about  the  cross. 
And  yet  it  may  be  feared  that  some  of  us  are  there 
with  averted  eyes.  And  the  malady  is  upon  us,  and 
this  will  cure  it,  and  this  only;  and  if  it  does  not  cure 
us,  we  shall  die,  and  the  death  in  which  it  ends  is 
hopeless  and  perpetual.  No  resurrection  comes  to  it; 
no  light  shall  ever  beam  upon  its  eternal  darkness. 
Salvation  by  the  cross  is  full,  free,  equally  for  all, 
enough  for  all,  "unto  all  and  upon  all  them  that  be- 
lieve." Oh!  perish  not,  perish  not,  in  sight  of  the 
cross.  "Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  thou 
shalt  be  saved." 


SAMSON'S  RIDDLE.  31 


SERMON  III. 

SAMSON'S    RIDDLE. 

Out  of  the  eater  came  forth  meat,  and  out  of  tlie  strong  came  fortli 
sweetness. — Judges  xiv.  1-1. 

Samson  is  one  of  those  ill-defined  personages  of 
Holy  Scripture,  of  ^'hom  we  scarcely  know  what  to 
say  or  to  think.  His  life  is  full  of  contradictions.  St. 
Paul  sets  him  down  among  his  eminent  examples  of 
faith.  He  was  a  Judge  of  Israel,  and  a  powerful  cham- 
pion and  defender  of  his  nation.  His  achievements 
were  miraculous,  and  Heaven  wrought  miracles  to  de- 
fend and  succour  him.  Yet  his  history  is  stained  with 
levity  and  sensuality,  deformed  with  such  blemishes 
indeed  as  are  hardly  consistent  with  the  fear  and  love 
of  God.  Whether  that  faith  which  is  attributed  to 
him  was  a  faith  that  purified  and  saved  his  soul,  or 
only  a  faith  that  made  him  an  efficient  and  conspicu- 
ous actor  in  the  Church's  external  history,  is  a  ques- 
tion not  easy  to  solve.  Faith  is  an  element  of  power 
sometimes  where  it  is  not  saving.  Any  strong  persua- 
sion, any  earnest  belief,  nerves  the  heart  and  strength- 
ens the  arm ;  and  thus  a  deep  and  firm  conviction  may 
make  a  mighty  and  effective  actor  of  one  on  whose 
character  it  exerts  no  salutary  influence.  The  Crusa- 
ders are  a  striking  instance  of  the  power  of  a  belief  to 
produce  labour  and  self-denial  in  men  for  an  end, 


32  SERMON  III. 

■while  yet  they  remain  full  of  worldly  passion,  and  are 
carried  by  it  into  gross  crimes  and  excesses.  They 
were  not  holy  men  because  they  went  to  a  holy  war, 
and  were  actuated  by  a  lively  and  energetic  faith  in 
the  object  it  contemplated,  even  though  that  faith  was 
one  which  filled  them  with  a  certain  sort  of  religious 
zeal  and  enthusiasm.  Perhaps  Samson's  faith  was  of 
this  sort.  His  death  was  as  ambiguous  as  his  life. 
AYe  hardly  know  whether  to  attribute  it  to  revenge  or 
heroism,  to  call  it  self-martyrdom  or  self-murder.  To 
ascertain  the  state  of  men  before  God,  and  "  take  forth 
the  precious  from  the  vile,"  distinguishing  blemished 
reality  from  specious  falsehood,  is  not  ours.  It  is 
God's  office.  He  "will  bring  to  light  the  hidden 
things  of  darkness,  and  make  manifest  the  counsels  of 
the  heart." 

Our  text  is  what  is  commonly  called  Samson's  Rid- 
dle. A  riddle  is  a  sort  of  germinal  and  undeveloped 
parable,  in  which  certain  points  of  comparison  or  re- 
semblance are  rather  suggested  than  set  forth  in 
detail.  It  is  to  the  other  as  an  outline  sketch  to  a 
finished  picture.  It  is  a  concentrated  parable  as  it 
were,  in  which  only  the  leading  idea  is  given,  to  be 
expanded  by  the  mind  to  which  it  is  presented  into  a 
perfect  image. 

The  occasion  of  this  riddle  was  as  follows.  Samson 
sought  in  marriage  a  daughter  of  the  Philistines  who 
dwelt  at  Timnath.  As  he  went  down  in  company  with 
his  parents  to  negotiate  the  alliance,  when  he  had 
"come  to  the  vineyards  of  Timnath,  a  young  lion 
roared  upon  him.     And  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  came 


Samson's  riddle.  33 

mightily  upon  him,  and  he  rent  him  as  he  would  have 
rent  a  kid.  And  he  went  down,  and  talked  with  the 
■woman,  and  she  pleased  Samson  well.  And  after  a 
time  he  returned  to  take  her,  and  turned  aside  to  see 
the  carcass  of  the  lion:  and  behold!  a  swarm  of  bees 
and  honey  in  the  carcass  of  the  lion."  On  the  occa- 
sion of  his  marriage  Samson  made  a  feast,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  custom  of  the  country ;  and  as  the  habit 
was,  "  they  gave  him  thirty  companions  to  be  with 
him,"  as  his  special  retinue  during  the  festivities. 
These  nuptial  attendants  are  probably  the  same  as 
"the  children  of  the  bride  chamber,"  mentioned  by 
our  Lord.  One  of  these  is  John  the  Baptist's  "friend 
of  the  bridegroom."  The  institutions  of  the  East  are 
very  unchanging,  and  its  usages  go  on  without  altera- 
tion from  generation  to  generation.  To  the  more 
mercurial  mind  of  Yf  estern  races  only  is  novelty  agree- 
able. The  Oriental  mind  loves  to  run  in  channels  that 
have  been  worn  for  it  by  the  past,  and  to  do  as  multi- 
tudes have  done  in  days  gone  by.  To  these  companions 
of  his  wedding  festivities  Samson  proposed  the  riddle 
before  us.  "  Samson  said  unto  them,  I  will  now  put 
forth  a  riddle  unto  you :  if  ye  can  certainly  declare  it 
unto  me  within  the  seven  days  of  the  feast,  and  find  it 
out,  then  I  will  give  you  thirty  sheets  and  thirty  changes 
of  garments:  but  if  ye  cannot  declare  it  me,  then  ye 
shall  give  me  thirty  sheets  and  thirty  changes  of  gar- 
ments. And  they  said  unto  him,  Put  forth  thy  riddle 
that  we  may  hear  it.  And  he  said  unto  them,  Out  of 
the  eater  came  forth  meat,  and  out  of  the  strong  came 
forth  sweetness."  The  riddle  Avas  suggested  by  the 
4 


34  SERMON  III. 

incident  of  the  lioney  in  the  lion's  carcass,  and  in 
this  it  had  its  solution.  But  as  the  circumstance  was 
known  only  to  himself,  and  had  never  been  divulged 
to  any  one,  the  young  men  were  destitute  of  any  clue 
to  his  meaning,  and  tasked  their  ingenuity  in  vain  to 
discover  the  secret  so  darkly  hinted  in  his  senten- 
tious words.  At  last,  despairing  of  success,  and  angry 
at  the  prospect  of  defeat  by  their  astute  visiter,  they 
prevailed  upon  his  wife  by  intimidation,  to  draw  the 
explanation  from  him  and  communicate  it  to  them. 
By  these  dishonourable  means  they  succeeded.  Her 
importunities  prevailed.  Samson  told  her  the  mean- 
ing of  his  riddle.  And  her  countrymen,  by  knowledge 
thus  unworthily  obtained,  gave  him  the  true  solution 
within  the  appointed  time,  and  won  the  reward  he  had 
offered.  "And  it  came  to  pass  on  the  seventh  day, 
that  he  told  her,  because  she  lay  sore  upon  him:  and 
she  told  the  riddle  to  the  children  of  her  people.  And 
the  men  of  the  city  said  unto  him  on  the  seventh  day 
before  the  sun  went  down.  What  is  sweeter  than  honey? 
and  what  is  stronger  than  a  lion?"  Samson  readily 
divined  the  source  of  their  information,  and  spoke  out 
the  bitter  contempt  and  vexation  of  his  heart,  at  his 
own  weakness,  his  wife's  treachery,  and  their  disgrace- 
ful meanness,  in  the  disdainful  and  sarcastic  comment, 
"If  ye  had  not  plovfed  with  my  heifer,  ye  had  not 
found  out  my  riddle."  When  the  people  of  God  form 
alliances  with  Philistines,  above  all  make  marriages 
with  them,  they  can  reasonably  expect  nothing  better 
than  treachery  and  faithlessness  in  their  social  rela- 
tions, and  to   be  preyed  upon  and  injured  in   all  their 


Samson's  riddle.  35 

interests  by  those,  whose  show  of  friendship  in  these 
ill-assorted  bonds,  is  but  a  cover  of  hatred,  selfishness 
and  rapacity.  "  Be  ye  not  uner{nally  yoked  together 
with  unbelievers." 

Such  are  the  original  application  and  purpose  of 
Samson's  riddle.  But  there  lies  in  it  a  broader  signi- 
ficancy,  deeper  truth,  truth  of  permanent  value,  truth 
applicable  ofttimes  to  the  events  and  circumstances  of 
life,  truth  that  teaches  us  to  recognise  and  admire  the 
hidden  and  Avonderful  wisdom  of  God's  ways,  and  coun- 
sels us  to  wait  in  patience  and  in  hope  the  develop- 
ment of  good  to  us  out  of  frowning  providences, 
threatening  dangers,  and  circumstances  full  of  offence, 
that  awaken  in  our  hearts  at  first  nothing  but  terror, 
loathing  and  discomfort. 

In  this  sense,  it  is  the  Riddle  of  Life. 

Ah,  indeed !  it  is  not  to  Samson  alone  that  the  eater 
affords  meat,  and  the  strong  gives  forth  sweetness.  It 
is  so  more  or  less  to  us  all.  Some  of  the  best  things 
we  gain  in  this  world,  the  richest  food  and  nourish- 
ment of  our  souls,  come  forth  from  that  which  at  first 
threatens  to  devour  us,  which  comes  to  us  originally 
with  the  aspect  of  a  destroyer  seeking  "to  eat  up  our 
flesh,"  to  lay  waste  our  heritage,  and  with  its  hungry 
jaws  consume  our  possessions  and  our  life.  And  yet, 
if  with  a  courageous  and  dauntless  heart  we  meet  its 
onset,  our  arm  may  be  strengthened  to  vanquish  and 
destroy  it.  And  then,  in  God's  good  time,  the  eater  shall 
yield  us  meat;  and  we  shall  find,  it  may  be  indeed  not 
till  after  many  days,  but  we  shall  surely  find  some 
time  or  another,  in  its  stripped  and  purified  ruins,  food 


30  SERMON  III. 

that  sliall  help  to  build  ii3  up,  and  strengthen  us  and 
nourish  us  unto  life  eternal.  And  so  too  shall  the 
^strong  yield  sweetness  to  us,  some  of  the  principal 
enjoyments  and  delights  of  life  arising  from  the  wrecks 
of  thinfrs  which  at  our  first  encounterinor  them  wore 
only  an  appearance  of  savage  and  hostile  power,  and, 
which,  even  when  successfully  resisted  and  overcome, 
in  the  first  stages  of  their  decay,  were  noisome  and 
disgusting  only — for  I  suppose  the  word  strong  in  my 
text  may  have  some  such  double  meaning — but  which, 
when  time  and  the  Lord's  goodness  have  cleansed  and 
corrected  them,  acquire  a  strange  treasure  of  pleasure 
and  satisfaction  for  us,  and  yield  us  in  the  end,  meat 
good  for  food  and  pleasant  to  the  taste.  Truly,  not 
only  "  in  the  wilderness"  did  God  "  break  the  heads  of 
Leviathan  in  pieces  and  give  him  to  be  meat  for  his 
people;"  he  is  always  doing  so.  The  ugly  shapes  that 
are  continually  starting  up  in  our  paths,  coming  forth 
from  the  thickets  that  border  them,  assaulting  us  in 
the  gayest  scenes,  on  our  errands  of  love  and  hope 
and  happiness,  if  they  are  met  and  beaten  down  by 
the  resolved  heart  and  vigorous  arm  of  a  true  Chris- 
tian valour,  as  they  may  be  if  we  are  only  "strong 
in  the  Lord  and  in  the  power  of  his  might,"  in  time, 
show  that  they  were,  in  all  their  terrific  and  threaten- 
ing appearance,  forecasting  provisions  of  the  Lord's 
love ;  and,  thus  vanquished  and  slain,  turn  into  sources 
of  strength  and  enjoyment  to  us,  and  when  again  we 
light  upon  the  place  of  the  encounter  and  victory,  we 
find  honey  in  the  monster,  meat  in  the  eater,  and  sweet- 
ness in  the   strong,  and  we  may  put  forth  our  hand 


SAMSON  S  RIDDLE.  37 

and  take  and  eat  of  it  in  safety  to  the  refreshment 
and  joy  of  our  souls.  But  all  this  depends  upon  the 
way  in  which  we  meet  the  evil .  If  we  meet  it  coura- 
geously, and  overcome  it,  it  will  in  time  afford  us  food 
and  pleasure.  But  if  we  succumb  to  it,  and  are  van- 
quished by  it,  it  will  be  only  what  it  is  in  its  own  pro- 
per nature.  It  will  never  moulder  down  into  a  home 
of  industrious  and  useful  bees,  and  a  hive  of  savoury 
and  nutritious  honey.  Rather,  "the  wild  beast  will 
tear  us,"  it  will  '^rend  the  caul  of  our  heart."  And  we 
shall  moulder  into  nothingness,  and  "leave  our  name  a 
curse  unto  God's  chosen,"  and  our  life  a  wreck,  without 
good  fruit  to  ourselves  or  to  others. 

Look  at  moral  evil.  Truly  "  the  devil  as  a  roaring 
lion  goeth  about  seeking  whom  he  may  devour; "  and 
temptation  is  his  chosen  agency,  the  seductive  forms 
of  wickedness,  "the  deceitfulness  of  sin,"  put  forward 
to  "  beguile  unstable  souls,"  and  draw  them  within  the 
reach  of  his  ruinous  embraces.  And  its  assaults  are 
often  fierce  and  violent,  and  fitted  to  fill  the  soul  with 
dread.  So  that  the  tempted  heart  may  well  cry  out 
in  its  dismay,  "Lest  he  tear  my  soul  like  a  lion,  rend- 
ing it  in  pieces  while  there  is  none  to  deliver."  Yet 
there  is  a  strength  for  mortal  man  in  that  sore  con- 
flict in  the  might  of  which  "'  the  feeble  may  be  as 
David,"  even  the  strength  of  Him  who  makes  his 
strength  perfect  in  man's  weakness,  whose  grace  is 
sufficient  for  us,  by  whose  "ready  help"  we  are  "more 
than  conquerors,"  who  will  not  only  rescue  us,  but  even 
"bruise  Satan  under  our  feet."  For  in  all  his  rage, 
the  tempter  is  but  a  conquered  enemy,  and  fights  in 

4* 


ob  SERMON    III. 

chains,  and  only  Tvith  such  limited  liberty  as  ^Yill  in 
the  end  render  his  defeat  more  sure  and  his  destruc- 
tion more  signal.  lie  has  come  whose  office  it  is  "to 
destroy  the  works  of  the  devil;"  and  in  his  might,  the 
feeblest  Christian,  taking  to  him  the  armour  of  God, 
may  "  withstand  in  the  evil  day,"  and  even  beat  down 
his  enemy  in  the  battle.  And  Oh !  if  he  do,  his  vic- 
tory shall  not  be  barren,  but  most  gainful  and  produc- 
tive, and  Satan  shall  be  forced  to  nurture  and  refresh 
the  life  he  sought  to  destroy :  "  out  of  the  eater  shall 
come  forth  meat,  and  out  of  the  strong  shall  come 
forth  sweetness."  From  the  soil  of  temptation  spring 
the  soul's  best  attainments,  healthiest  growths,  rapidest 
advances,  its  richest  fruitfulness,  its  choicest  pleasures. 
"Happy  is  the  man  that  endureth  temptation;  for 
when  he  is  tried,  he  shall  receive  the  crown  of  life 
which  the  Lord  hath  promised  to  them  that  love  him." 
A  sense  of  our  weakness  may  well  lead  us  to  pray 
that  God  would  not  lead  us  into  it;  and  yet  a  wise 
and  enlightened  view  of  the  Christian  life  will  show, 
that,  well  endured,  it  is  turned  into  a  pregnant  bless- 
ing, a  most  prolific  source  of  improvement  and  happi- 
ness. A  temptation  that  vanquishes  us  is  indeed  solely 
a  foe  and  a  curse;  but  a  temptation  vanquished  is  a 
friend  in  fact,  as  it  is  a  foe  that  means  us  harm,  but  is, 
by  an  overmastering  power,  pressed  into  our  service  to 
do  us  a  more  than  counterbalancing  good.  Let  a  man 
look  over  his  life,  and  view  his  best  gains  and  highest 
pleasures,  and  see  if  they  have  not  arisen  out  of  his 
temptations,  his  moral  trials,  exposures  and  conflicts, 
if  they  are  not  all  the  memorials  of  victories  over  him- 


SAMSON'S    RIDDLE.  39 

self  and  over  the  world,  each  one  the  fruit  of  some 
desire  suppressed,  some  influence  resisted,  some  deter- 
mination not  to  do  evil  -when  solicited  to  do  it,  to  do 
good  when  powerfully  dissuaded,  some  saying  in  his 
heart,  "Get  thee  behind  me  Satan,"  some  fulfilment  of 
the  promise,  "  Resist  the  devil,  and  he  will  flee  from 
you."  And  all  the  sense  we  have  of  liberty  and  power 
in  serving  God,  and  all  the  joy  we  have  in  God's  fa- 
vour and  the  hope  of  heaven,  are  evermore  the  result 
of  spiritual  perils  and  conflicts,  honey  in  the  carcass  of 
the  lion,  the  meat  and  the  sweetness  that  have  ga- 
thered for  us  in  the  wreck  of  slain  appetites  and 
resisted  enticements,  meat  from  the  eater,  and  sweet- 
ness from  the  strong. 

Look  at  outward  trouble.  How  truly  is  this  an 
eater  and  a  strong  eater,  a  devourer  of  man! — how  ex- 
tensive its  ravages ! — what  region  of  his  life  does  it  not 
invade,  what  path  of  his  mortal  pilgrimage  has  it  not 
strewn  with  wrecks  and  trophies  of  its  power?  For 
it  is  strong  by  the  commission  of  God,  who  sends  it 
among  men  as  the  token  of  his  displeasure  at  them, 
the  memorial  of  their  fall  and  sinfulness,  and  not  less 
also,  the  instrument  of  his  healing  and  reclaiming 
mercy.  Strong  indeed  it  is,  so  that  nothing  that  is 
earthly  can  stand  before  it,  no  barriers  arrest  its  pro- 
gress, no  walls  forbid  its  entrance.  Man's  wisdom 
and  wealth  and  strength  and  greatness  it  alike  derides, 
laying  them  all  waste,  consuming  them  with  an  insa- 
tiable voracity,  sweeping  them  all  away  as  with  "  the 
besom  of  destruction,"  entering  into  his  palaces  and 
towers,  and  spoiling  their  treasure  and  their  beauty  and 


40  SERMON   III. 

their  armament.  And  how  wide  and  impartial  is  its 
sweep!  Who  does  not  feel  its  power,  and  know  by 
sad  experience  the  feebleness  of  man  before  it?  For 
"  man  is  born  to  trouble  as  the  sparks  fly  upward;" 
it  is  just  as  much  a  law  of  his  being ;  and  therefore 
the  record  of  human  life  is  always  the  story  of  broken 
hopes  and  blasted  purposes,  of  smitten  loves,  of  abor- 
tive desires,  faded  prospects,  lost  joys,  and  withered 
acquisitions.  Yet  even  over  this  monster,  so  grim,  cruel, 
stern,  and  relentless,  there  is  a  victory  for  man,  the 
victory  of  an  inward  calmness,  an  unconquerable  trust, 
a  cheerful  resignation,  and  an  undying  hope.  The 
prescription  for  it  simply  is,  "In  your  patience  possess 
ye  your  souls."  The  heart  that  can  say,  "Though  he 
slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him;"  trouble  can  pain, 
but  cannot  conquer.  Nay,  the  harmer  is  conquered 
in  his  own  seeming  victory ;  for  the  frail  thing  that  he 
thinks  to  rend,  in  the  might  of  love  and  faith  rends  him 
as  a  strong  man  might  rend  a  kid.  What  trouble  is 
to  us  depends  on  whether  we  let  it  conquer  us,  or  con- 
quer it  by  remaining  tranquil  and  trustful  and  in- 
wardly happy  by  the  grace  of  God  under  its  fierce 
assaults.  And  a  conquered  trouble  becomes  always 
in  the  end  a  storehouse  of  nutrition  and  delight  to  us 
in  our  true  life.  The  skeletons  of  sorrows,  cleansed 
and  bleached  by  the  kindly  influence  of  time,  are 
turned  into  receptacles,  whither  busy  workers,  sent  on 
their  errand  by  the  God  of  love,  bring  treasures  of  food 
and  sweetness  for  us ;  and  when  we  visit  them  again,  we 
find  them  hives,  and  take  thence  honey  and  eat  it  to 
our  nourishment  and  satisfaction.  The  graves  of  buried 


SAMSON'S   RIDDLE.  41 

griefs  grow  green  and  flowery;  and  the  noisomeness  of 
decay  sends  up  rich  fruits  and  fragrant  blossoms. 
"No  chastisement  for  the  present  seemeth  to  be  joy- 
ous, but  grievous ;  nevertheless  afterward  it  yieldeth 
the  peaceable  fruit  of  righteousness  to  them  that  are 
exercised  thereby."  "This  light  affliction  which  is 
but  for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far  more  ex- 
ceeding and  eternal  weight  of  glory."  Yes,  trouble 
well  borne  is  not  merely  conquered,  it  is  subsidized 
and  fertilized,  made  conducive  to  our  welfare,  tribu- 
tary to  our  gain.  Grim  and  terrible  it  looks  in  its 
approach,  as  if  it  were  ready  to  devour  us ;  but  if  it  is 
met  in  a  spirit  of  trust  and  submission,  it  is  slain ;  and 
out  of  its  ashes  shall  certainly  grow  such  spiritual 
strength  and  gladness,  as  can  spring  from  no  other 
source.  And  so  here  again,  the  experience  of  his  peo- 
ple shows  how  in  the  ordering  of  God's  mysterious 
wisdom,  to  them  that  love  and  rely  upon  him,  out  of 
the  eater  comes  forth  meat,  and  out  of  the  strong 
comes  forth  sweetness. 

Finally,  look  on  death.  This  is  the  greatest  de- 
vourer  of  all,  the  most  frightful  and  mighty  and  unre- 
lenting. There  is  no  discharge  in  the  war  that  it 
wages,  no  exception  to  its  universal  sway.  "  What 
man  is  he  that  liveth  and  shall  not  see  death?  and 
shall  he  deliver  his  soul  from  the  hand  of  hell?"  Here 
is  a  battle  in  which  every  man  must  in  the  end  be 
worsted.  And  yet  man  may  be  even  death's  con- 
queror. A  Man  indeed  has  conquered  death,  and  for 
the  race ;  and  now  no  man  is  conquered  by  him  but 
he  who  foolishly  yields  him  a  triumph.     The  Chris- 


42  SERMON   III. 

tian's  submission  to  death  is  but  apparent.  He  con- 
quers him  in  letting  him  have  his  way.  He  becomes 
deathless  by  dying.  Christ  "hath  abolished  death," 
and  henceforward  over  all  that  are  in  Christ  his 
triumph  is  but  a  piece  of  pageantry,  a  sham  success, 
that  is  in  truth  the  most  complete  and  deadly  of  de- 
feats. And  conquered  death  is  forced  into  man's  ser- 
vice. "That  devouring  monster,  that  king  of  terrors, 
being  robbed  of  his  sting  and  stripped  of  his  horror, 
transmits  the  believer's  soul  to  the  realms  of  bliss,  and 
makes  way  for  the  body  itself,  being  restored  incor- 
ruptible, immortal  and  glorious,  to  partake  of  endless 
felicity.''  Look,  what  it  did  for  Christ,  the  represen- 
tative Man.  See,  what  nutriment  it  ministered  to  his 
life.  See,  with  what  enhancement  of  strength  and 
joy  he  comes  forth  from  its  impotent  embrace.  It 
thought  to  hold  him  always;  but  "he  could  not  be 
holden  of  it"  beyond  the  shortest  space.  The  soul  of 
the  Holy  One  was  not  left  in  hell,  and  his  flesh  did  not 
see  corruption.  And  contrast  his  life  before  death 
with  his  life  after  it.  See  him,  in  the  first,  "  a  man 
of  sorrows,"  with  "not  where  to  lay  his  head,"  "  the 
scorn  of  men  and  outcast  of  the  people,"  "numbered 
with  the  transgressors,"  and  "brought  as  a  lamb  to 
the  slaughter."  But  death  comes  as  it  might  seem  to 
complete  the  triumph  of  enmity  and  injustice,  and  lo ! 
it  proves  an  emancipator,  an  ennobler,  a  nourisher, 
a  gladdener.  He  was  "  crucified  through  weakness," 
but  he  rises  "  the  Son  of  God  with  power."  Tears 
and  suffering  are  past,  and  God  anoints  him  "with 
the  oil  of  gladness  above  his  fellows;"  and  "  he  shall 


Samson's  kiddle.  43 

reign  till  he  has  put  all  enemies  under  his  feet."  So 
it  shall  be  to  his  followers.  He  is  our  Forerunner, 
and  death  shall  do  for  us  what  it  did  for  him.  By 
faith  we  conquer  it,  and  this  is  not  merely  to  restrain 
it  from  doing  us  harm,  but  to  compel  it  to  do  us  good, 
make  it  our  slave,  force  it  to  become  subservient  to  our 
welfare.  Indeed  there  is  nothing  else  in  all  our  his- 
tory that  works  so  blessed  a  change  in  our  condition 
as  death.  Infirmity,  sin,  suffering,  dimness  of  mind, 
weakness  of  heart,  all  it  purges  away.  Where  its 
salutary  hand  has  passed,  all  things  are  new,  all  things 
are  better.  The  sick  are  well,  the  decrepit  and  ex- 
hausted are  again  young,  they  who  saw  through  a 
glass  darkly,  behold  face  to  face,  they  who  felt  after 
God  see  the  King  in  his  beauty,  and  they  who  lived 
on  thoughts  and  shadows  of  good  things  to  come,  enter 
into  and  inhabit  the  heavenly  places.  Death,  in  will 
our  destroyer,  is  against  his  will  our  friend.  Tempta- 
tion ended  and  turned  to  a  good,  trouble  past  and 
transformed  to  a  blessing,  death  at  last  is  swallowed 
up  in  victory.  "  The  last  enemy  that  shall  be  destroyed 
is  death."  And  so  the  Eiddle  of  Life  is  solved ;  for  "  out 
of  the  eater  has  come  forth  meat,  and  out  of  the  stronix 
has  come  forth  sweetness." 


44  SERMON  IV. 


SEEMON  lY. 

ELI. 

For  I  have  told  him  that  I  will  judge  his  house  forever  for  the  ini- 
quity -which  he  knoweth,  because  his  sons  made  themselves  vile, 
and  he  restrained  them  not.  And,  therefore,  I  have  sworn  unto 
the  house  of  Eli,  that  the  iniquity  of  Eli's  house  shall  not  be 
purged  with  sacrifice  nor  offering  forever. — 1  Samuel  hi.  13,  14. 

In  Eli  we  have  one  in  whom  great  and  varied  ex- 
cellence is  fatally  marred  by  a  single  fault.  And  yet, 
even  that  fault  was  at  least  amiable,  akin  to  a  form 
of  goodness,  and  capable  of  a  specious  apology  and 
extenuation.  It  was  but  an  excess  and  misdirection 
of  parental  love.  His  story  forms  a  striking  exempli- 
fication of  the  truth  of  Solomon's  maxim,  that,  as  ''  a 
dead  fly"  in  the  otherwise  fragrant  and  precious  "oint- 
ment of  the  apothecary,"  renders  it  fetid  and  loath- 
some, so  does  "a  little  folly"  ruin  the  fame  of  "him 
who  is  in  reputation  for  wisdom  and  honour."  Alas! 
for  his  historic  name,  that  Eli,  the  pious  priest  and 
upright  magistrate,  is  also  the  father  of  the  profligate 
Ilophni  and  Phinehas,  unrestrained  by  a  father's  au- 
thority, unpunished  by  a  father's  power,  and  very 
insufiiciently  checked  by  a  father's  mild  example  and 
gentle  remonstrance.  That  father  was  venerable  for 
years,  for  station,  and  for  character.  He  united  in 
himself  the  highest  civil  and  ecclesiastical  dignities 
of  the  nation.     He  was  both  Judge  and  High-priest  of 


ELI.  45 

Israel.  Never  before  had  one  of  the  sacerdotal  race 
attained  this  distinction.  Representing  the  illustrious 
line  of  Aaron  through  Eleazar,  he  succeeded  to  the 
high-priesthood  by  hereditary  descent.  And  he  had 
been  called  to  the  office  of  Judge  or  supreme  temporal 
ruler,  by  divine  providence,  perhaps  by  direct  appoint- 
ment of  God.  In  the  varied  functions  of  his  double 
dignity  he  had  acted  with  such  integrity  and  wis- 
dom, as  to  conciliate  the  universal  esteem  and  confi- 
dence of  his  countrymen ;  and  thus  he  had  grown  old, 
and  was  verging  to  the  close  of  a  life  marked  in  no 
common  degree  with  usefulness,  prosperity  and  honour. 

But  in  this  fair  scene  there  was  a  blot,  not  large 
and  conspicuous  in  the  eyes  of  men,  but  great  and 
offensive  in  the  sight  of  God.  And  this  was  destined 
to  darken  the  closing  scene  of  all  this  venerable  beauty, 
and  leave  the  name  of  Eli  on  the  pages  of  God's  word 
a  warning,  and  not  an  example.  Eli  had  been  a  too 
indulgent  father ;  and  in  the  closing  years  of  his  life, 
the  evil  fruits  of  his  unwise  and  injurious  tenderness 
were  developed  in  consequences  fatal  to  his  peace  in 
life  and  his  reputation  in  death.  This  brought  down 
at  last  "his  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 
This  drew  upon  him  the  awful  rebuke  and  displeasure 
of  his  Maker.  This  entailed  misery  and  disgrace  on 
successive  generations  of  his  descendants.  And  this 
has  made  his  story,  with  all  that  it  presents  of  what  is 
reverend  and  beautiful,  useful  chiefly  in  the  way  of 
alarm  and  admonition. 

Eli  was  the  father  of  two  sons,  Ilophni  and  Phi- 
nehas,  the  latter  bearing  the  name  of  one  of  the  most 
5 


46  •  SERMON  IV. 

illustrious  of  his  ancestors,  the  zealous  son  of  Eleazar 
and  grandson  of  Aaron,  T\'hose  decision  and  energy, 
by  a  deed  of  painful  severity,  stayed  the  progress  of 
iniquity  among  his  countrymen,  -when  they  were  be- 
guiled into  idolatry  and  lewdness  by  the  arts  of  Moab 
and  Midian  at  Shittim  in  the  wilderness,  led  on  by 
the  wily  counsels  of  Balaam,  defeated  in  his  direct 
attempts  to  injure  Israel,  but  still  bent  on  mischief, 
and  "loving  the  wages  of  unrighteousness" — an  ho- 
nourable name  dishonoured  by  a  degenerate  inheritor. 
Hophni  and  Phinehas  were  priests,  by  virtue  of  their 
lineage,  and  had  entered  on  the  discharge  of  their 
priestly  functions  long  before  the  death  of  their  venerable 
father.  But  they  disgraced  their  sacred  office  by  their 
shameless  licentiousness  and  rapacity.  Religion  was 
dishonoured  in  their  persons,  and  the  service  of  God 
was  rendered  unpopular,  and  even  odious,  by  the  cha- 
racter and  conduct  of  its  ministers.  Thus  they  who 
should  have  been  chief  promoters  became  principal 
hinderers  of  God's  cause  and  worship.  "  Yv'herefore," 
says  the  sacred  historian,  "the  sin  of  the  young  men 
was  very  great  before  the  Lord;  for  men  abhorred 
the  offering  of  the  Lord."  To  this  wickedness  of  his 
sons  the  aged  priest  opposed  nothing  but  words  of 
mild  reproof,  which  fell  with  little  power  on  men, 
whose  desires  pampered  by  long  and  unlimited  indul- 
gence, and  swollen  by  the  pride  of  consequence  and 
the  wantonness  of  power,  treated  such  feeble  checks 
with  contempt  and  derision.  Neither  the  authority  of 
a  father,  nor  the  power  of  a  magistrate,  were  employed 
to  impose  more  effectual  restraints  upon  their   evil 


ELI.  47 

ways.    The  father's  faint,  querulous  entreaty—^'  Why 
do  ye  such  things?     Nay,   my   sons,    ye  make  the 
Lord's  people  to  transgress.     It  is  no  good  report 
that  I  hear," — proved  no  impediment  in  the  way  of 
their  headstrong  passions.     "Eli,"  we  are  told,  "was 
very  old;"  and  in  that  decay  of  firmness  and  energy 
which  attends  the  decline  of  life,  are  to  be  found  the 
solution  and  apology  of  this  miserable  weakness.     Yet 
this  did  not  avail  with  God.  And  why?  Doubtless  be- 
cause it  was  the  sequel  of  a  weak  indulgence  practised 
at  an  early  day  and  under  less  excusable  circumstances. 
Eli  had  not  grown  weakly  indulgent  first  when  the 
powers  of  nature   were  failing;    nor  had  Eli's  sons 
jumped  by  a  sudden  spring  from  a  life  of  virtue  to 
such  depths  of  profligacy  and  vileness.     Eli  had  all 
along  been  educating  his  sons  to  be  what  they  had 
become.     Indulgence  now,  when  they  had  become  no- 
toriously wicked,  was  but  the  consistent  carrying  out 
of   indulgence  practised   while   their  character   was 
forming.     He  had  been  bringing  them  up  to  be  vile, 
while  he  had  full  possession  and  exercise  of  those  powers 
by  which  he  might  have  restrained  and  corrected  their 
obliquities ;    and  now  it  would  not   avail  him   as   a 
shield  against  the  responsibility,  that  he  had  lost  the 
resolution  to  punish  their  vileness.     Pure  example  and 
wise  instruction  had  been  afforded  them  in  vain ;  but 
there  had  never  been  a  very  firm  and  efficient  exer- 
cise of  authority  over  them.      He  had   taught  and 
counselled  and  reproved  them  well ;  but  he  had  been 
too  fond  of  them  to  restrain  and  punish  them.     And 
now  they  were  vile,  and  set  at  defiance  an  authority 


48  SRMON  IV. 

they  had  never  been  taught  to  honour ;  and  he  must 
bear  the  bitter  penalty,  in  the  sight  of  their  degrada- 
tion and  destruction,  in  the  displeasure  of  God,  in  an 
old  age  of  sorrow,  in  a  death  of  anguish,  in  national 
calamity  and  domestic  afflictions  in  his  lifetime,  and 
the  foresight  of  a  long  entailment  of  loss  and  suffering 
on  his  posterity. 

The  youthful  Samuel  was  made  the  instrument  of 
declaring  to  Eli  the  displeasure  of  God ;  and  the  stern 
message  seems  to  gain  additional  severity  as  it  falls 
from  the  lips  of  the  innocent  and  awe-struck  child,  who 
was  appointed  to  bear  it — "  Behold !  I  will  do  a  thing 
in  Israel,  at  which  both  the  ears  of  every  one  that 
heareth  it  shall  tingle.  In  that  day  I  will  perform 
against  Bli  all  things  which  I  have  spoken  concerning 
his  house:  when  I  begin,  I  will  also  make  an  end. 
For  I  have  told  him  that  I  will  judge  his  house  for- 
ever for  the  iniquity  which  he  knoweth ;  because  his 
sons  made  themselves  vile,  and  he  restrained  them 
not.  And  therefore  I  have  sworn  unto  the  house  of 
Eli,  that  the  iniquity  of  Eli's  house  shall  not  be  purged 
with  sacrifice  nor  offering  forever."  This  denuncia- 
tion echoes  and  confirms  a  former  message  of  greater 
minuteness  and  particularity  which  had  been  previously 
sent  him  by  a  man  of  God.  "  There  came  a  man  of 
God  unto  Eli,  and  said  unto  him,  Behold  !  the  days 
come,  that  I  will  cut  off  thine  arm,  and  the  arm  of 
thy  father's  house,  that  there  shall  not  be  an  old  man 
in  thine  house.  And  thou  shalt  see  an  enemy  in  my 
habitation,  in  all  the  wealth  which  God  shall  give 
Israel :  and  there  shall  not  be  an  old  man  in  thine 


ELI.  49 

house  forever.  And  the  man  of  thine,  whom  I  shall 
not  cut  off  from  mine  altar,  shall  be  to  consume  thine 
eyes,  and  to  grieve  thine  heart:  and  all  the  increase 
of  thine  house  shall  die  in  the  flower  of  their  age. 
And  this  shall  be  a  sign  unto  thee,  that  shall  come 
upon  thy  two  sons,  on  Hophni  and  Phinehas ;  in  one 
day  they  shall  die  both  of  them.  And  it  shall  come 
to  pass,  that  every  one  that  is  left  in  thine  house  shall 
come  and  crouch  for  a  piece  of  silver  and  a  morsel  of 
bread,  and  shall  say.  Put  me,  I  pray  thee,  into  one  of 
the  priest's  offices,  that  I  may  eat  a  piece  of  bread." 
Here  is  death,  loss  of  hereditary  dignity  and  conse- 
quence, abject  poverty  and  degradation.  Surely,  if 
the  penalty  be  an  index  of  the  crime — and  we  are  to 
remember,  that  this  is  not  the  erring  justice  of  men, 
but  the  perfect  righteousness  of  God — the  criminality 
of  Eli,  venial  though  it  seem  according  to  the  rules  of 
human  judgment,  was  truly  great  and  awful.  And 
the  fault  of  parental  laxity,  though  men  rate  it  lightly, 
is,  in  the  sight  of  God,  whose  judgment  is  never  false 
or  disproportionate,  who  traces  all  causes  accurately 
to  their  results,  and  discerns  infallibly  their  extent 
and  quality,  a  sin  of  fearful  magnitude  and  enormity, 
and  must  be  accounted  by  him  one  of  the  most  pro- 
lific sources  of  evil  which  the  world  exhibits. 

This  sentence  on  Eli  was  executed  with  a  terrible 
amplitude  and  exactness.  A  few  years  passed  rapidly 
away.  Samuel  attained  manhood,  and  "  was  estab- 
lished to  be  a  prophet  of  the  Lord."  War  broke  out 
between  Israel  and  the  Philistines.  The  ark  of  the 
covenant,  superstitiously  accounted  the  sure  pledge  of 


50  SERMON  IV. 

safety  and  success,  the  palladium  of  the  nation,  was 
carried  into  the  camp,  as  though  its  presence  must  en- 
sure a  victory.  But  borne  by  polluted  hands,  it 
brought  TN'rath  rather  than  defence.  "  There  was  a 
very  great  slaughter;  for  there  fell  of  Israel  thirty- 
thousand  footmen.  And  the  ark  of  God  was  taken, 
and  the  two  sons  of  Eli,  Hophni  and  Phinehas,  were 
slain."  "Eli,"  meanwhile,  "sat  upon  a  seat  by  the 
wayside  watching;  for  his  heart" — a  true  and  loyal 
heart,  though  a  weak  and  erring  one — "  trembled  for 
the  ark  of  God."  "Eli  was  ninety  and  eight  years 
old;  and  his  eyes  were  dim,  that  he  could  not  see." 
The  messenger  of  evil  tidings  came,  and  abruptly 
told  him  of  the  battle  and  its  disastrous  issues.  Life 
sunk  beneath  the  shock.  "  He  fell  from  oiF  his  seat 
backward  by  the  side  of  the  gate,  and  his  neck  brake, 
and  he  died;  for  he  was  an  old  man  and  heavy." 
But  calamity  did  not  end  here.  The  wife  of  Phinehas, 
overcome  by  the  heavy  news,  died  in  giving  birth  to  a 
son  prematurely  born,  an  orphan  from  his  birth,  and 
left  him  in  his  name  a  memorial  of  misfortune  and 
grief:  "She  named  the  child  Ichabod,  saying.  The 
glory  is  departed."  Still,  the  office  of  high-priest 
continued  for  a  time  in  the  family  of  Eli.  But  they 
were  doomed  to  suffer.  His  grandson,  Ahimelech,  with 
many  of  his  priestly  associates,  probably  the  chief 
part  of  them  his  immediate  kindred,  fell  a  victim  to 
the  cruel  jealousy  of  Saul,  when  "  Doeg,  the  Edomite," 
at  his  command,  in  punishment  of  their  supposed  sym- 
pathy with  the  pretensions  of  David,  "  fell  upon  the 
priests,  and  slew  four  score  and  five  persons  that  did 


ELI.  51 

wear  a  linen  ephod."  Abiatliar,  the  son  of  Ahlme- 
lech,  in  the  latter  years  of  David's  reign,  was  seduced 
from  his  loyalty,  and  took  part  in  the  rebellion  of 
Adonijah.  Solomon  pardoned  the  traitorous  priest, 
but  thrust  him  out  of  the  honours  and  functions  of  his 
office,  and  sent  him  in  disgrace  from  the  court.  ''  So," 
says  the  sacred  historian,  "  Solomon  thrust  out  Abia- 
thar  from  being  priest  unto  the  Lord;  that  he  might 
fulfil  the  word  of  the  Lord,  which  he  spoke  concern- 
ing the  house  of  Eli  in  Shiloh."  The  high-priesthood 
was  thereupon  transferred  to  the  line  of  Ithamar,  the 
younger  son  of  Aaron,  and  the  family  of  Eli  disappears 
from  the  page  of  history. 

Now,  my  dear  brethren,  what  is  of  chief  importance 
to  us  in  the  impressive  case  which  has  been  presented 
for  our  consideration,  is  its  bearing  on  our  own  inte- 
rests and  duties.  This  Scripture,  like  others,  was 
**  written  for  our  learning."  It  describes  beings  like 
ourselves,  living  under  the  government  of  the  same 
God,  ruled,  judged,  and  rewarded  according  to  the 
same  holy  and  immutable  principles.  We  have  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  we  are  living  under  a  moral 
regimen  materially  different  from  that  which  obtained 
in  the  days  of  Eli ;  or  that  our  conduct  under  it  will 
fail  to  bring  substantially  similar  results  to  ourselves 
and  to  others.  Our  chief  difference  lies  in  clearer 
light  and  richer  grace.  But  if  these  bring  enhanced 
hope  and  augmented  ability,  so  do  they  increase  our 
responsibility  and  exposure.  Eor  of  them  to  whom 
much  is  given,  justly  will  much  be  required. 

Let  me  then  remind  you,  first,  that  a  parent  is  a 


52  SERMON  IV. 

ruler  hj  appointment  of  God,  and  is  held  at  God's 
bar  accountable  for  the  office  and  work  of  a  ruler.  It 
is  perfectly  manifest,  that  for  want  of  vigour  and  faith- 
fulness in  this  department  of  his  duty  Eli  was  cen- 
sured, condemned  and  punished.  It  was  not  as  the 
pattern  or  the  instructor  of  his  children  that  he  had 
failed,  but  as  their  governor ;  and  no  excellence  in 
either  of  the  former  respects  could  atone  for  his  short- 
coming in  the  latter.  His  "sons  made  themselves 
vile,  and  he  restrained  them  not" — this  was  the  bur- 
den of  the  charge,  and  the  ground  of  the  condemnation. 
He  had  not  misled  them  by  his  example,  nor  corrupt- 
ed them  by  his  teaching ;  but  he  had  failed  in  an 
efficient  exercise  of  discipline  to  coerce  and  chastise 
them.  Under  the  influence  of  a  mistaken  tenderness, 
he  had  shrunk  from  thwarting  their  inclinations,  and 
punishing  their  faults.  As  the  result,  they  were  vile, 
and  he  was  held  answerable  and  guilty.  A  parent 
then  is  more  than  an  example  and  an  instructor ;  and 
no  exactness  and  fidelity  in  these  respects  will  meet 
the  measure  of  his  obligations.  He  is  one  of  those 
"powers  that  be,  that  are  ordained  of  God,"  and,  in 
his  sphere,  is  appointed  and  required  to  be  a  terror  to 
evil-doers,  and  for  a  praise  to  them  that  do  well.  The 
family  is  a  divine  polity  of  which  he  is  the  head  ; 
and  as  such,  in  it  he  is  the  image  and  representative 
of  God,  with  a  portion  of  whose  power  he  is  correspon- 
dently  clothed.  And  what  is  a  polity  without  laws  ? 
and  what  are  laws  without  penalties  ?  and  what  are 
penalties  without  punishments?  There  must  be  an 
exercise  of  coercive  authority,  and  an  administration 


ELI.  53 

of  punitive  justice,  if  that  polity  is  to  answer  its  truly 
holy  and  benevolent  purpose.  I  speak  not  now  of 
one  form  of  punishment  or  of  another ;  of  the  utility 
of  physical  inflictions  or  the  preferableness  of  a  dif- 
ferent description  of  penalties;  whether  Solomon's 
words  in  reference  to  the  rod  are  to  be  taken  literally 
or  with  a  greater  latitude  of  meaning.  I  speak  of  co- 
ercion and  restraint,  as  essential  features  of  the  domes- 
tic economy  by  the  ordinance  of  God,  in  the  neglect 
of  which  its  duties  cannot  be  fulfilled,  nor  its  benefits 
fully  reaped.  Too  many  are  wont  in  this  day  to  re- 
gard the  whole  subject  of  punishment,  whether  in  the 
family  or  the  state,  under  the  misleading  influence  of 
a  weak  sensibility  and  a  counterfeit  benevolence. 
But  He,  whose  love  is  far  purer  and  truer  than  any 
known  to  man,  has  appointed  it  to  man  as  a  needful 
restraint  and  a  salutary  remedy ;  and  we  shall  never 
find  our  wisdom  or  our  welfare  in  any  vain  attempt  to 
criticise  or  amend  the  ordinance  of  God. 

Lastly,  let  me  remind  you  that  a  child  is  a  being  that 
needs  restraint  and  coercion.  False  theories  of  edu- 
cation are  mainly  built  on  the  basis  of  a  false  estimate 
of  the  moral  condition  of  human  nature.  Starting 
with  the  false  position  that  the  child  has  nothing  in 
it  but  elements  of  good,  which  only  need  to  be  drawn 
out  and  developed  in  order  to  the  production  of  a 
pure  and  lovely  character,  and  protected  during  their 
growth  from  the  corrupting  operation  of  evil  influences 
from  without,  it  overlooks  the  solemn  truth,  that,  min- 
gled with  these  elements,  are  prolific  seeds  of  evil, 
which  need  to  be  eradicated  with  a  firm  and  steady 


64  SERMON  IV. 

hand,  and  resolutely  repressed  upon  tlielr  first  shoot- 
ing forth  and  growth.  No  theory  of  education  can  be 
successful  that  looks  upon  a  child  as  any  thing  else 
but  a  depraved  and  sinful  being,  sinful  in  nature,  and 
sure  to  be  sinful  in  practice.  Hence,  the  failure  of  a 
thousand  pretty  schemes,  which,  overlooking  the  great 
truth  that  underlies  all  well-constructed  plans  for  the 
training  of  human  beings,  prove  nothing  but  "a  wall 
daubed  with  untempered  mortar."  The  true  work  of 
moral  training  is,  like  all  other  true  works  of  men,  a 
warfare  also,  undertaken  and  prosecuted  against  con- 
trary influences  and  opposite  tendencies,  which  na- 
ture does  not  aid,  but  opposes.  Parents  have  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil  to  hinder  their  success.  They 
have,  for  the  subject  of  their  labours,  not  a  pure  and 
pliant  thing  which  they  have  only  to  mould  and  direct, 
but  a  perverse  and  stubborn  thing  which  they  need  to 
correct  and  constrain.  Hence  it  is  that  they  are  con- 
stituted governors,  and  clothed  with  power  to  enforce 
the  laws  which  God  has  made  for  them,  or  which  they 
make  under  commission  from  God.  Hence,  so  large  a 
part  of  their  work  lies  in  the  disagreeable  business  of 
coercion  and  restraint.  Hence,  "  a  child  left  to  him- 
self, bringeth  his  mother  to  shame."  Hence,  the  many 
failures  which  an  ill-taught  and  ill-administered,  though 
well  meaning  and  pains-taking  nurture,  is  doomed 
to  encounter.  Hence,  children  ruined  by  parental  in- 
dulgence, grow  up  to  be  their  parents'  scourge  and 
shame,  and  hand  down  the  mischiefs  of  the  error  to 
their  posterity  of  the  third  and  fourth  generation. 
True,  it  is  not  in  man's  power  to   change  the  heart. 


ELI.  55 

That  is  the  prerogative  of  God  only.  But  he  that 
works  by  divine  rules,  with  faith  in  divine  promises 
and  divine  methods,  will  not  be  apt  to  lack  a  divine 
blessing.  God  at  the  font  met  you  with  a  pledge  to 
make  your  children  his.  His  grace  is  given  you  to 
help  you  work,  and  them  to  make  your  work  eifec- 
tual  upon  them.  Only  do  God's  work  not  at  halves 
but  according  to  his  prescription,  and  he  will  crown  it 
with  an  abundant  blessing.  Then,  *'  your  sons  shall 
grow  up  as  the  young  plants,  and  your  daughters  be 
as  the  polished  corners  of  the  temple." 


5Q  .  SERMON  V. 


SERMON   Y. 

THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    DAY. 

Ye  are  all  tlie  children  of  light,  and  the  children  of  the  day:  we  are 
not  of  the  night  nor  of  darkness. — 1  Thessalonians  v,  5. 

This  is  very  beautiful ;  and  in  important  and  inte- 
resting respects,  true.  It  is  full  of  admonition  and 
encouragement.  If  we  are  the  children  of  the  light 
and  of  the  day,  we  have  no  excuse  for  our  sins,  and 
great  and  precious  advantages  for  securing  our  salva- 
tion. The  Church,  to-day,*  in  the  Collect,  teaches 
us  that  since  Jesus,  the  "light  of  the  world,"  has 
once  come  in  great  humility  to  illuminate  and  save 
mankind,  and  will  "  come  again  in  glorious  majesty 
to  judge  and  reward  them,"  we,  the  subjects  of  such 
wonderful  condescension  and  the  expectants  of  such 
solemn  retribution,  ought  constantly  to  pray  for  grace 
to  enable  us  to  "  cast  off  the  works  of  darkness  and 
put  on  the  armour  of  light;"  that  we  may  be  indeed 
the  children  of  light  and  of  the  day,  and  not  incur  the 
awful  and  aggravated  condemnation  of  those,  who, 
when  "light  has  come  into  the  world,"  "love  darkness 
rather  than  light,  because  their  deeds  are  evil." 

The  text  affirms  of  the  Thessalonians — and  in  no 

respect  was  it  true  of  them  in  which  it  is  not  equally, 

if  not    more  true    of   us — that   they    were   "all  the 

children  of  the  light  and  the  children  of  the  day." 

'■''  Advent  Sunday. 


THE  CHILDREN  OP  THE   DAY.  57 

But  while  this  is  true  of  us  all,  it  is  not  true  of  all  in 
the  same  sense  or  degree.  Illumination  is  various 
and  unequal.  It  can  be  affirmed  of  different  men  only 
in  different  measures ;  and  while  in  its  lowest  form,  it 
is  the  involuntary,  unsought,  too  often  unvalued  pri- 
vilege of  all  whose  lot  a  kind  Providence  has  cast 
where  ''  the  darkness  is  past  and  the  true  light  shi- 
neth,"  in  its  higher  kinds,  it  is  the  attainment,  the 
difficult  and  laborious  attainment,  of  those  only,  who 
by  faithful  improvement  of  the  means  of  acquiring 
knowledge  and  cultivating  faith  and  holiness,  have 
^'  no  part  dark,  the  whole  being  full  of  light,  as  when 
the  bright  shining  of  a  candle  doth  give  them  light." 
There  is  indeed  a  sense  in  which  the  "true  li^ht 
lighteth  every  man  that  cometh  into  the  world."  There 
is  no  place  where  the  darkness  is  utter  and  complete. 
Straggling  beams  from  the  great  Luminary  of  the 
world,  find  their  way  into  its  darkest  corners,  and  irra- 
diate the  most  benighted  of  its  inmates.  None  can 
tell  how  much  of  truth,  and  of  truth,  which,  despite 
the  falsehood  and  corruption  by  which  it  is  surrounded 
and  oppressed,  may  yet  operate  with  saving  efficacy, 
mingles  in  the  creeds  and  rites  of  heathenism ;  nor  to 
what  extent  the  grace  of  God  may  enlighten  the  con- 
sciences and  purify  the  hearts  of  men,  who  have  no 
explicit  knowledge  of  the  Gospel,  or  formal  faith  in 
the  Saviour  of  sinners.  There  is,  in  my  opinion,  such 
a  thing  as  a  constructive  and  latent  faith,  latent  be- 
cause it  lacks  instruction  and  liberty,  opportunity  of 
development  and  distinct  disclosure,  that  feeds  on 
such  scanty  supplies  as  it  gains  access  to,  and  though 
6 


58  SERMON  V. 

rather  an  inclination  and  yearning  to  believe  than  a 
positive  belief,  owing  to  the  mists  of  ignorance  that 
choke  and  conceal  it,  may  yet  be  salvation  to  its  pos- 
sessor, being  "accounted  to  him  for  righteousness," 
by  Him,  with  whom  "a  man  is  accepted  according  to 
that  he  hath  and  not  according  to  that  he  hath  not," 
and  who  will  not  overlook  or  despise  any  glimmering  of 
faith  which  his  own  Spirit  has  enkindled.  To  such  how- 
ever it  is  not  my  design  to  direct  your  attention  fur- 
ther. The  apostle  wrote  to  Christians ;  and  to  Chris- 
tians in  some  of  the  appropriate  senses  of  the  word,  I 
shall  confine  my  examination. 

And  first,  it  is  evident  that  all  those  on  whom  the 
true  light  shines  are,  in  a  very  important  sense,  "  the 
children  of  the  day."  Of  them  it  is  true  that  they 
*•  that  sat  in  darkness  saw  great  light,  and  to  them 
that  sat  in  the  region  and  shadow  of  death,  light 
is  sprung  up."  Christendom  is  the  domain  of  light  as 
contrasted  with  the  early  world  or  the  regions  beyond. 
Its  very  dimmest  parts  are  luminous  in  comparison  with 
any  portion  of  the  world  to  which  the  rays  of  the  Gospel 
have  not  penetrated.  None  can  dwell  where  the  Gospel 
is  known  without  deriving  from  it  great  accessions  of 
knowledge  on  most  important  and  essential  questions. 
What  elsewhere  is  conjecture,  surmise,  hope,  there  is  cer- 
tainty, and  ranks  with  the  axioms  and  postulates  of 
spiritual  science.  What  heathen  sages,  by  the  reflection 
and  research  of  a  life,  laboured  to  make  probable,  the 
Christian  child  learns  at  its  mother's  knee,  and  grows  up 
to  know  and  believe  with  an  implicit  and  unwavering 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  DAY.  69 

confidence,  yea,  and  many  things  besides,  which  the  ef- 
forts of  natural  reason  were  never  able  so  much  as  to 
excogitate  even  into  the  rudest  sketch  or  outline.  There 
is  a  large  class  of  truths,  and  those  among  the  most  valu- 
able and  interesting  to  man,  which  it  costs  a  man  in 
Christendom  more  effort  to  doubt,  than  it  requires  a 
heathen  man  to  apprehend  or  imagine.  The  faith  which 
men  entertain  in  such  truths  rests  not  generally  in  formal 
demonstrations.  This  it  does  not  need,  it  outruns.  It 
embraces  them  by  a  certain  innate  sense  and  instinc- 
tive recognition  of  their  truth.  Once  declared  they 
are  as  difficult  to  reject,  as  they  were  to  discover  pre- 
vious to  their  declaration.  Revelation  is  but  the  echo, 
or  rather  the  articulate  utterance,  of  sounding  voices 
which  have  been  whispering  in  the  ears  of  men  inar- 
ticulately from  the  beginning ;  and  when  at  last  they 
speak  plainly,  the  souls  of  men  cannot  choose  but 
recognise  and  welcome  them  as  fulfilments  of  "  prophe- 
cies going  before,"  completions  and  realizations  of 
vague  hopes  and  indistinct  wishes  antecedently  che- 
rished. It  is  as  though  the  souls  of  men,  mute  for 
ages,  had  at  last  found  a  tongue  to  speak  thoughts 
which  have  been  long  wandering  through  them  formless 
and  unreal,  haunting  them  like  shadowy  spectres ;  and 
in  the  act  of  speaking  them,  find  them  suddenly  in- 
vested with  substance,  figure  and  life.  We  cannot  tell 
how  much  we  owe  to  the  privilege  of  being  born  and 
educated  where  the  fundamental  principles  of  religion 
and  morals  are  understood  and  admitted,  and  we  have 
grown  up  in  an  acquaintance  with  them,  under  their 
imperceptible  but  constant   and  powerful  influence. 


60  SERMON  V. 

The  being  of  God,  his  unity  and  holiness,  the  immor- 
tality of  man,  his  accountability,  moral  distinctions, 
and  the  rules  of  practical  duty,  are  among  the  first 
truths  we  learn.  And  they  are  very  influential  and 
ennobling  truths.  Life  has  to  us  a  meaning,  an  im- 
portance, and  a  dignity,  which  it  cannot  have  where 
these  are  unknown.  The  human  being  is  invested  by 
them  with  a  worth  and  grandeur  which  nothing  else 
can  communicate.  Man  learns  in  view  of  them  to  re- 
spect himself  and  his  work,  to  rise  above  the  pursuit 
of  the  mean  and  the  transitory,  and  seek  his  portion 
in  the  glorious  and  eternal.  These,  however,  are  but 
elemental  truths.  The  Gospel  contains  much  more, 
yea,  and  much  that  is  more  precious.  It  is  a  system 
of  salvation.  It  looks  upon  us  in  our  lost  estate.  It 
describes  it.  It  prescribes  for  it.  It  portrays  us  just 
as  w^e  are.  It  off"ers  us  just  such  remedies  as  we  need. 
The  more  the  reason  and  conscience  are  enlightened, 
the  clearer  does  its  evidence  appear,  the  fuller  of  in- 
sight and  of  wisdom,  of  an  insight  and  wisdom  divine ; 
the  more  legible  grows  the  stamp  of  divinity  upon  it, 
as  proceeding  from  Him  who  knows  w^hat  is  in  man, 
and  with  exquisite  judgment  and  goodness,  fits  his  sup- 
plies and  appointments  to  man's  wants  and  suscepti- 
bilities. How  much  our  social  and  individual  happi- 
ness and  elevation  are  advanced  by  these  causes  we 
cannot  tell,  could  never  judge  unless  we  were  to  re- 
move into  "  the  dark  places  of  the  earth ; "  nor  then 
fully,  unless  we  could  rid  om^selves  of  that  personal 
illumination  which  would  still  make  for  us  an  oasis  of 
light  in  the  gloom,  and  transfuse  ourselves  wholly  into 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  DAY.  61 

the  consciousness  of  one  of  its  benighted  inhabitants. 
Yes,  indeed,  we  are  all  the  children  of  the  day.  There 
is  nothincr  we  need  to  know  concernino^  God  or  our- 
selves,  time  or  eternity,  duty  or  salvation,  which  is 
hidden  from  us.  The  light  shines  in  our  dwellings  and 
irradiates  our  paths.  It  dawns  upon  our  cradles  and 
lingers  upon  our  graves.  From  a  child  we  know  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  "which  are  able  to  make  us  wise  unto 
salvation."  "Wisdom  crieth  without;  she  uttereth 
her  voice  in  our  streets ;  she  crieth  in  the  chief  place 
of  concourse,  in  the  opening  of  the  gates :  in  the  city 
she  uttereth  her  words."  A  thousand  voices  call  us 
to  "  eschew  evil  and  do  good,"  "cease  to  do  evil  and 
learn  to  do  well."  Wheresoever  we  are,  whithersoever 
we  go,  "our  ears  hear  a  word  behind  us,  saying,  This 
is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it,  when  we  turn  aside  to  the 
right  hand,  and  when  we  turn  aside  to  the  left." 

But  there  is  a  second  and  higher  sense  in  which  we 
are  the  children  of  the  day,  as  we  are  baptized  into 
the  body  of  Christ,  and  made  to  partake  of  the  privi- 
leges of  the  Church.  And  this  also  is  happily  true 
of  most  of  us ;  sad  to  think !  that  in  a  land  that  calls 
itself  Christian,  it  should  be  untrue  of  any.  The  an- 
cient fathers  often  called  Baptism  illumination ;  be- 
cause it  introdtced  and  pledged  to  its  recipients  the 
enlightening  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  And 
doubtless  the  advantage  of  baptized  persons  in  this 
respect  is  not  unreal  or  imaginary,  however  dark  the 
actual  condition  of  the  minds  and  lives  of  many  of 
their  number.  The  perverseness  or  negligence  of  men 
or  their  spiritunl  guardians  must  never  lead  us  to  doubt 

6* 


62  SERMON  V. 

the  reality  of  God's  gifts,  the  sufficiency  of  his  means, 
or  the  sincerity  of  his  promises.     Doubtless,  Baptism 
does  offer  to  men  peculiar  opportunities  of  outward 
relifi^ious  instruction.     The  Church  of  God  is  put  in 
charge  of  the  spiritual  education  of  its  members;  and 
this  charge,  without  throwing  off,  it  specially  delegates 
to  chosen  and  appointed  agents.     A  most  important 
and  interesting  part  of  the  commission  of  every  Bishop 
of  the  Church,  and  under  him  of  every  inferior  minis- 
ter, is,  ^'  Feed  my  lambs."     Every  Christian  congre- 
gation is  bound  to  see  that  provision  is  made  for  the 
training  of  the  young  within  its  borders  in  the  know- 
ledge of  truth  and  duty.     Christian  parents  by  their 
natural  obligations.  Christian  sponsors  by  their  volun- 
tary engagement,  are  required  to  see  that  the  baptized 
"  child  be  taught  so  soon  as  it  is  able  to  learn  all  that 
a  Christian   ought  to  know  and  believe   to    its  soul's 
health."    If  the  provisions  of  the  Church  are  complied 
with,  four  persons,  the  pastor,  the  parents,  and  at  least 
one  sponsor  besides,  are  held  responsible  for  the  reli- 
gious training  of  every  child,  which  in  the  name  of  its 
Divine  Head,  it  receives  into  "  the  arms  of  his  mercy.'' 
The  baptized  child  then  is  not  left  to  gain  light  by 
such  accidental  opportunities  as  it  may  meet  with  in  a 
land  of  light.     There  are  those  whose  duty  and  busi- 
ness it  is  to  seek  it  out  and  take  pains  with  its  instruc- 
t 'on.     Its  privilege  is  to  be  followed  by  the  affectionate 
solicitudes,  the  tender  admonitions,  the  gentle  teach- 
ings of  loving   hearts.     They  lead  its  yet  tottering 
feet  to  the  house  of  God,  and  "  call  upon  it  to  hear 
ermons."     They  teach  its  lisping  tongue  to  utter  "the 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  DAT.  63 

Creed,   the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  the  Ten   Command- 
ments, and  answer  the  questions  which  in  the  Short 
Catechism  are  contained."     "  Line  upon  line,  precept 
upon  precept,  here  a  little  and  there  a  little,"  amid 
the  sweet  charities  and  influences  of  home,  by  quiet 
hearths,  with   morning's  light,  and  day's  decline,  the 
father's  counsels,  the  mother's  teachings,  "  drop  as  the 
rain  and  distil  as  the  dew."    And  God,  "that  keepeth 
covenant  and  mercy  to  them  that  fear  him,"   whose 
"promise  is  to  you  and  your  children,"  will  aid  the 
work  and  make  it  saving.     Oh  I  if  there  is  no  such 
effectual  work  of  God,  it  is  because,  only  because,  there 
is  no  such  work  of  man  to  base  it  upon,  for  it  to  aid 
and  sanctify  and  crown, — no  work  at  all,  or  only  a 
work,  irregular,  unsteady,   listless    or    unwise.     God 
keeps  his  promise  to  the  children  of  his  covenant.     He 
comes  to  them,  insinuates    truth   into  their  opening 
minds,  touches  their  consciences  with  a  sense  of  duty, 
a  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  and  enkindles  in  their 
hearts  aspirations  after  the  holy,  the  heavenly  and  the 
immortal.     And  if  such  happy  beginnings  are  stifled 
and  destroyed  through  want  of  proper  co-operation, — 
alas !  how  frequently  they  are, — it  is  through  the  care- 
lessness, or  the  not  less  injurious  and  reprehensible  igno- 
rance, of  the  guardians  to  whom  the  nurture  of  them  is 
committed.     It  is  painful  to  think,  how  many  germs  of 
divine  things,  "  things  that  accompany  salvation,"  are 
lost  through  the  prevalence  of  false  theories  stereo- 
typed, as   it  were,  upon  the  public   mind.      Parents 
and  sponsors,  taught  to  look  for  good  to  their  charge 
only  as  the  result  of  conversion  in  mature  years,  labour- 


64  SERMON  V. 

ing  only  wltli  prospective  reference  to  a  future  and 
contingent  juncture,  see  the  workings  of  religious 
thought  and  inquiry  in  the  young  without  interest  and 
encouragement;  and  so,  the  springing  seed  unrecog- 
nised and  unvalued  is  left  to  be  choked  by  the  thorns 
and  briers  that  throng  and  overshadow  it,  and  brings 
no  fruit  to  perfection.  Ah !  my  dear  brethren,  "  the 
promise  is  to  you  and  to  your  children."  Baptism  is 
illumination  in  design  at  least;  and  by  virtue  of  it 
they  are  in  a  special  sense  "the  children  of  the  light 
and  of  the  day."  God  will  teach  them  if  you  will. 
God  does  teach  them  in  advance  of  your  agency,  and 
invites  you  to^  "co-operate.  And  if  his  teaching  is  in- 
effectual, and  they  grow  up  in  darkness,  and  go  on  in 
darkness,  it  is  because  in  your  blindness  you  neither 
observe  his  work  nor  understand  his  promise,  but  con- 
fide in  a  different  work  and  a  different  promise,  far  less 
precious  and  less  accordant  with  the  economy  of  grace. 
But  there  is  still  another  form  and  grade  of  illumina- 
tion, by  virtue  of  which,  the  partakers  of  it  are  made 
in  a  still  higher  and  more  glorious  sense  the  children 
of  the  light  and  of  the  day.  This  is  that  illumination 
which  reaches  the  heart  and  the  life,  and  brings  them 
under  the  practical  control  of  the  truth  which  it 
communicates.  This  is  the  end  and  design  of  all  in- 
ferior illuminations.  All  that  the  diffusive  Christia- 
nity of  the  land  teaches  its  people,  or  the  instructions, 
institutions  and  peculiar  grace  of  the  Chm*ch  offer  to 
communicate  to  its  members,  is  subservient  to  this  de- 
sign, and  accomplishes  but  a  very  meager  and  inade- 
quate result  without  it.     No  brilliant  corruscations 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  DAY.  65 

of  the  fancy  to  furnish  materials  for  religious  poetry 
or  religious  eloquence,  no  cold  lustre  of  reason  to 
supply  means  of  argumentation  for  defence  or  con- 
troversy, is  the  proper  fruit  of  the  true  light.  "  The 
day  must  dawn,  and  the  day-star  arise  in  our  hearts." 
It  must  so  enlighten  us  as  to  persuade  us  to  "  put  off 
the  works  of  darkness  and  put  on  the  armour  of  light," 
to  "walk  as  children  of  light,"  to  "deny  ungodliness 
and  worldly  lusts,  and  live  soberly,  righteously  and 
godly  in  this  present  world."  To  little  purpose  do  we 
boast  ourselves  in  this  title  because  we  are  dwellers  in 
a  Christian  country  or  members  of  a  Christian  church. 
"If  ye  know  these  things,  happy  are  ye  if  ye  do  them." 
All  short  of  this  is  a  very  low  improvement  of  divine 
gifts.  A  spiritual  illumination,  one  that  takes  hold 
upon  the  moral  and  active  powers  of  our  nature,  that 
quickens  the  conscience,  that  controls  the  will,  that 
hallows  the  affections,  that  gives  truth  supremacy  and 
dominion,  that  stamps  the  visible  impress  of  every 
revelation  it  makes  upon  the  character  and  practice, 
is  the  illumination  that  makes  us  children  of  the  day 
in  the  only  sufficient  sense,  and  thereupon  heirs  of 
salvation.  The  truth  of  the  Gospel  is  all  practical. 
No  part  of  it  is  without  a  bearing  upon  the  character, 
the  interior  condition  of  the  heart,  and  the  outward 
fashion  of  the  life.  Throughout,  it  is  instinct  with  mo- 
tive and  impulsion.  Its  aim  is  to  produce  this  senti- 
ment, feeling,  resolution,  act.  It  is  duly  honoured, 
rightly  successful,  when  the  sentiment,  feeling,  reso- 
lution, act,  appropriate,  follows.  Obedience  to  the 
light  thus  renders  men  properly  children  of  the  light. 


66  SERMON  V. 

And  he  is  a  child  of  the  light  in  the  highest  and  fullest 
acceptation,  who,  being  full  of  knowledge,  submits 
his  heart  and  life  most  perfectly  to  its  authority. 

Our  subject  is  profitable  for  admonition.  We  are 
all  the  children  of  the  light  and  of  the  day  in  some  of 
the  lower  senses — alas  !  how  many  of  us  fail  of  being 
such  in  any  higher.  How  many  of  us  are  there  whose 
character  befits  only  an  era,  a  land,  a  state,  of  dark- 
ness ;  whose  whole  tone  of  feeling  and  living  only  suits 
the  case  of  creatures  who  are  destitute  of  such  know- 
ledge of  God  and  eternity,  duty  and  salvation,  as  we 
enjoy.  Ah,  indeed !  beings  who  know  that  they  live 
under  the  government  and  inspection  of  the  Supreme, 
that  they  are  immortal  and  accountable,  redeemed  by 
the  blood  of  Christ,  on  trial  for  eternity,  and  momenta- 
rily liable  to  be  called  to  judgment  and  inevitable  retri- 
bution, live  as  we  do,  so  thoughtlessly,  so  frivolously, 
so  sinfully !  The  light  is  to  such  but  the  justifica- 
tion and  security  of  a  severer  condemnation.  We 
have  no  cloak,  no  excuse,  no  palliation,  for  our  sins. 
"  The  men  of  Nineveh  shall  rise  in  judgment  with 
this  generation  and  condemn  it :  for  they  repented  at 
the  preaching  pf  Jonas ;  and,  behold,  a  greater  than 
Jonas  is  here."  "This  is  the  condemnation,  that 
light  is  come  into  the  world,  and  men  love  darkness 
rather  than  light,  because  their  deeds  are  evil."  "For 
he  that  knew  his  Master's  will,  and  did  it  not," — and 
Oh  how  righteously! — "shall  be  beaten  with  many 
stripes." 

But  our  subject  ministers  encouragement  even  more 
strongly.     Its  voice  is  that  of  invitation  and  promise. 


I 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  DAY.  67 

Liglit  was  not  given  to  destroy  men  but  to  save  them. 
It  IS  saving  by  native  tendency  and  the  purpose  of 
God,  destructive  only  by  perversion  and  the  folly  of 
men.  Wherever  it  shines,  it  says,  "  God  hath  not  ap- 
pointed you  to  wrath,  but  to  obtain  salvation  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ."  Wherever  the  ''  Sun  of 
righteousness  "  arises,  there  is  "  healing  in  his  wings ;  " 
drops  of  mercy  and  of  salvation  distil  throughout  all 
their  broad  expansion.  Christ  ''came  not  into  the 
world  to  condemn  the  world,  but  that  the  world 
through  him  might  be  saved."  With  so  much  know- 
ledge, with  so  much  opportunity,  with  so  much  love, 
surely,  surely,  you  will  not  ''  hate  to  be  reformed  and 
cast  his  words  behind  you."  He  shines  upon  you;  he 
will,  if  you  shut  not  out  his  rays,  shine  in  you.  That  is 
salvation.  .You  know  what  God  wills  you  to  be  and  to 
do ;  begin  to  comply,  endeavour  to  comply.  Then  shall 
you  indeed  be  the  children  of  the  lio'ht.  and  thp  chil- 
dren of  the  day. 


68  SERMON  VI. 


SERMON  YI. 

RELIGION    NOT    UNMANLY. 

Now  the  days  of  David  drew  nigh  that  he  should  die ;  and  he  charged 
Solomon  his  son,  saying,  I  go  the  way  of  all  the  earth:  be  thou 
strong,  therefore,  and  show  thyself  a  man;  and  keep  the  charge  of 
the  Lord  thy  God,  to  walk  in  his  ways,  to  keep  his  statutes,  and 
his  commandments,  and  his  judgments,  and  his  testimonies,  as  it 
is  written  in  the  law  of  Moses,  that  thou  mayest  prosper  in  all 
that  thou  doest,  and  whithersoever  thou  turnest  thyself. — 1 
Kings,  ii.  1 — 3. 

This  is  interesting  many  ways,  interesting  as  a  pic- 
ture, and  as  a  specimen  of  counsel.  It  is  an  old  man 
speaking  to  a  young  one,  a  king  to  his  successor,  an 
aged  warrior  to  a  youthful  man  of  peace,  a  man  of  ac- 
tion to  a  man  of  knowledge,  a  dying  man  to  a  man  on 
the  threshold  of  his  earthly  career,  one  who  had  done 
with  earth  to  one  who  was  entering  on  its  fulness,  a 
father  to  a  son,  a  David  to  a  Solomon.  Figure  to 
yourself  the  scene ;  it  is  full  of  moral  grandeur  and 
beauty.  David  was  now  ^'old  and  stricken  in  years." 
There  was  a  time  when  "he  was  ruddy  and  of  a  fair 
countenance ;"  but  that  had  long  passed.  He  was  now 
faded  and  feeble,  the  shadow  of  his  former  self.  Oh ! 
how  unlike,  the  blithe  shepherd  boy  singing  to  his  harp 
in  the  green  fields  of  Bethlehem,  and  the  decrepit  mo- 
narch sighing  away  his  breath  in  the  luxurious  palace  of 
Jerusalem.  The  daughters  of  music  were  brought  low. 
The  strong  men  bowed  themselves.     Such  is  the  end 


RELIGION  NOT  UNMANLY.  69 

of  man,  and  for  this  we  are  all  living,  if  death  do  not 
cut  us  off  too  soon.  Yet  we  can  hardly  doubt  that 
some  touches  of  his  former  nobleness  still  clung  to  the 
king, — in  decay  he  was  yet  David, — a  shadow,  but  a 
shadow  that  kept  still  traces  of  the  man  that  slew 
Goliath,  and  whom  the  virgins  of  Israel  celebrated  in 
their  songs.  "  The  gray  head  is  the  beauty  of  old 
men;  "  and  when  this  is  "found  in  the  way  of  right- 
eousness," it  is  even  "a  crown  of  glory,"  that  needs  no 
apology  and  no  concealment.  Would  that  there  were 
no  Christians  who  were  ashamed  to  feel,  and  unwilling 
to  acknowledge,  that  they  are  growing  old.  How  un- 
worthy this  of  the  disciples  of  Him,  who  hath  abolished 
death,  and  sowed  for  his  followers,  in  the  bosom  of  the 
opening  tomb  the  promise  of  an  eternal  youth.  All 
that  is  left  of  David,  the  shepherd,  the  harper,  the 
poet,  the  warrior,  the  king,  is  this  hoary-headed  and 
dim-eyed  old  man,  who  is  saying  his  last  words  to  the 
wise  and  wonderful  son,  to  whom  in  the  very  bloom 
and  vigour  of  his  life,  he  is  yielding  up  the  sceptre.  It 
is  a  picture  for  the  painter,  for  the  philosopher,  for  the 
Christian. 

But  these  are  not  the  things  on  which  we  purpose 
to  dwell.  It  is  to  a  single  point  in  these  last  words  of 
David  to  his  son  that  we  shall  confine  our  attention. 
David  tells  Solomon  to  be  a  man ;  and  surely  no  one 
will  doubt  that  David  knew  what  a  man  was.  He  was 
eminently  manly  himself.  His  was  a  manly  character 
and  a  manly  life.  He  had  grappled  with  life  in  its 
rough,  stern  reality.  Not  in  bowers  and  boudoirs,  in 
cloisters  or  in  sumptuous  halls,  had  he  chiefly  spent  his 
T 


70  SERMON  VI. 

days,  but  out  among  men  in  battling  with  adversity 
and  with  vicissitude,  in  fields,  in  caves,  in  the  conflicts 
of  war,  and  the  grave  and  difficult  offices  of  govern- 
ment ;  and  he  had  acquitted  himself  in  them  all  with 
a  high  determination  and  a  vigorous  efficiency.  When 
he  advised  Solomon  to  show  himself  a  man,  he  at- 
tached no  low  and  feeble  sense  to  the  term.  David 
was  a  judge  of  manliness. 

Yet  to  his  advice  to  Solomon  to  be  manly  he  ap- 
pends a  description  of  character  and  of  a  course  of  ac- 
tion, which  therefore  was  in  his  estimation  manly, 
or  at  the  least  not  unmanly.  If  indeed  it  is  not  his  de- 
scription of  manliness,  it  is  his  testimony  as  to  what 
is  not  inconsistent  with  manliness.  "  Show  thyself  a 
man,"  he  says,  ^'and  keep  the  charge  of  the  Lord  thy 
God,  to  walk  in  his  ways,  to  keep  his  statutes,  and  his 
commandments,  and  his  judgments,  and  his  testimo- 
nies, as  it  is  written  in  the  law  of  Moses."  Now  all 
this  is  summed  up  in  one  word,  and  that  is  religion. 
In  the  opinion  of  King  David  then,  religion  is  not 
unmanly,  religion  is  manly. 

Now  to  bring  this  inference  distinctly  out  is  what 
we  have  been  aiming  at.  It  is  indeed  a  very  important 
conclusion.  The  contrary  notion  does  great  mischief  in 
the  world,  and  is  one  of  the  chief  "wiles  of  Satan," 
by  which  he  draws  men's  feet  away  from  walking  in 
the  paths  of  peace.  It  is  common  for  men  to  think, 
especially  young  men,  the  devil  delights  to  make  them 
think,  that  religion  is  a  womanish  business,  and  cannot 
be  regarded  by  them  seriously  without  somewhat  de- 
tracting from  that  manliness  of  character  in  which 


RELIGION  NOT  UNMANLY.  71 

they  have  great  glorying.  To  be  independent  of  re- 
straint and  not  over  squeamish  in  their  morals  is  to  be 
manly;  but  to  serve  God  and  live  as  if  they  had  souls 
is  very  unmanly.  And  when  the  young  Solomon  is 
persuaded  of  this,  he  is  wiser  in  his  own  eyes,  far 
wiser,  than  that  truly  wise  Solomon,  who,  adopting  his 
father's  truer  account  of  manliness,  was  wont  to  call 
the  practisers  of  the  other  sort  of  manliness  by  the 
rough,  plain-spoken  title  of  fools.  We  think  King 
David  is  right,  and  we  will  proceed  to  justify  our  opi- 
nion. 

Religion  then  furnishes  ample  room  for  manly  sen- 
timents and  manly  courses  of  action.  Nay,  it  requires 
them  and  makes  them  necessary. 

I.  It  involves  the  choice  of  a  great  object.  It  sets 
a  man  upon  living  for  a  great  end,  the  greatest  end 
that  he  can  live  for.  Now  there  is  no  standard  by 
which  manliness  can  be  more  justly  measured  than  by 
this,  and  is  so  by  mankind  at  large.  To  see  grown  up 
men  occupying  themselves  in  petty  concerns,  suffering 
them  to  engross  their  thoughts  and  their  time  and 
their  powers,  making  them  their  all,  concentrating 
upon  them  their  energies  and  their  efforts,  following 
them  with  a  zeal,  an  earnestness  and  a  pertinacity  ut- 
terly disproportionate  and  exaggerated,  is  a  pitiable 
sight,  ridiculous  if  it  were  not  also  melancholy.  This 
is  puerile,  boyish,  effeminate.  "When  I  became  a 
man,"  says  the  apostle,  "I  put  away  childish  things." 
So  does  every  man  that  is  a  man,  a  man  not  only  in 
stature  and  in  years,  but  in  feeling  and  character. 
Otherwise  he  is  but  a  child,  whose  spirit  is  dwarfed 


72  BERMON  VI. 

into  a  perpetual  littleness,  while  its  outward  case  has 
unnaturally  shot  ahead  of  it  into  manlj  proportions. 
The  things  of  a  child  are  very  proper  things  for  a 
child.  There  is  fitness,  there  is  beauty,  there  is  use, 
in  his  devotion  to  them.  But  how  unseemly,  how 
contemptible,  how  offensive,  is  such  a  devotion  in  a 
man.  We  judge  of  men  by  the  elevation  and  magni- 
tude of  their  pursuits.  "VYe  think  a  fop  a  puerile  crea- 
ture, who  lives  to  look  pretty  and  smell  sweet.  And 
the  man  "whose  God  is  his  belly,"  who  lives  to  eat, 
and  lays  out  his  mind  on  marketing  and  cookery,  is 
another  great  child.  Such  men  are  still  busy  with 
their  playthings  a  little  changed  in  form.  But  does 
any  man  rise  to  the  height  of  himself  who  lives  for 
this  world?  Is  there  not  in  all  such  living  the  same 
sort  of  dwarfing  and  disparagement  of  the  true  great- 
ness and  dignity  of  human  nature,  the  same  sad  incon- 
gruity and  disproportion?  It  seems  to  me  that  there 
is.  The  unseemliness  and  disgrace  lie  in  the  former 
case  in  the  disparity  between  the  scope  and  capacity 
and  the  life.  Are  they  less  manifest  in  the  latter? 
The  scope  of  our  being  is  eternity ;  its  capacity,  to  be 
equal  to  the  angels  and  enjoy  God  forever.  Is  it 
manly  to  cramp  such  a  being  within  the  bounds  of  the 
earth  and  time,  and  be  content  with  the  ephemeral 
good  and  greatness  which  is  the  best  earthly  things 
can  give  ?  What  is  this  but  keeping  on  playing  with 
playthings  ? 

Who  so  much  a  man  as  '_he  who  shakes  away  the 
dust  of  such  mean  objects,  expands  his  ideas  to  the 
true  circumference  of  his  being,  takes  possession  of  his 


RELIGION  NOT  UNMANLY.  73 

full  birthright  in  his  thoughts,  and  with  a  worthy 
firmness  of  purpose  and  energy  of  endeavour,  resolves 
to  be  fit  for  the  whole  magnificent  portion  and  g;Joriou3 
destiny  for  which  his  Maker  designed  him  ?  Who  else 
is  so  much  a  man  as  the  Christian?  Who  so  well  un- 
derstands what  it  is  to  be  a  man?  Who  so  honours  his 
manhood?  Who  so  redeems  his  existence  from  frivo- 
lity, abuse  and  desecration?  Who  comes  so  near  to 
being  an  image  of  God  on  earth,  and  so  well  solves 
the  problem,  "What  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful  of 
him,  and  the  son  of  man  that  thou  visitest  him?" 
Truly,  well  has  Young  said, 

*' A  Cliristian  is  the  highest  style  of  man." 

II.  There  is  manliness  again  in  decision,  firmness 
and  constancy  of  purpose.  It  is  characteristic  of  chil- 
dren that  they  do  not  know  their  own  minds,  that 
they  are  the  sport  of  whim  and  caprice,  unsteady,  vacil- 
lating, freakish,  easily  diverted  from  their  aim,  easily 
discouraged  by  difficulties,  deficient  in  persistency,  re- 
solution and  concentration.  When  we  see  a  child 
more  fixed  and  consistent  in  the  choice  of  an  end 
than  children  are  wont  to  be,  we  call  him  precocious, 
a  manly  child ;  and  if  this  quality  is  not  so  prominent 
as  to  be  premature  and  unnatural,  we  say  it  augurs 
well  for  the  boy's  future.  To  see  a  grown  man  the 
victim  of  fugitive  preferences,  impressions  and  im- 
pulses, '^a  wave  of  the  sea,  driven  with  the  wind  and 
tossed,"  is  wretched.  It  shows  that  he  does  not  look 
far  enough  into  things  to  get  at  their  substance,  but  is 
the  dupe  of  shifting  appearances,  which  govern  him 

7* 


74  SERMON  VI. 

only  -wliile  they  are  present,  or  for  the  little  time  that 
their  fading  image  lingers  after.  Of  such  a  man  we  say 
that  he  ^Yill  never  do  any  thing,  and  he  never  does. 
He  may  have  powers,  but  they  are  frittered  away  and 
consumed  to  no  purpose  in  change  and  indecision. 
Much  meaner  faculties  steadily  directed  to  one  thing, 
will  accomplish  far  more,  and  produce  a  man  much  wor- 
thier of  the  name.  The  one  w^ill  never  be  more  than 
a  gifted,  marvellous  child;  the  other  a  real  and  ho- 
nourable man,  though  he  climb  to  no  height  of  shining 
eminence.  We  say  then  that  fixedness,  concentration, 
steadfastness,  are  attributes  of  a  man,  are  essential  to 
the  development  of  a  truly  manly  character.  And 
where  are  they  so  exhibited,  as  in  religion,  if  it  be  ge- 
nuine and  true  ?  What  else  so  tends  to  form  and  foster 
them?  What  else  so  draws  the  whole  life  as  it  were 
to  a  single  focus? — so  forces  all  its  streams  to  run 
into  one  reservoir?  What  else  gives  life  such  unity, 
coherence,  and  connexion  of  parts?  Who,  so  as  the 
Christian  can  say,  "This  one  thing  I  do;"  and,  amidst 
the  infinite  multiplicity  and  diversity  of  human  tasks, 
is  always  working  at  one  object,  realizing  that  great 
idea  that  has  taken  possession  of  his  mind,  making 
sure  that  glorious  possession  of  which  he  has  obtained 
the  reversion?  He  is,  if  he  is  what  his  name  fairly 
imports,  eminently  a  man  of  resolution,  of  devoted- 
ness,  of  singleness,  of  perseverance.  My  brethren,  it 
is  a  great  thing  to  see,  a  sublime  thing  in  a  changeful 
and  decaying  world,  a  man  bent  on  a  worthy  end  de- 
liberately and  intelligently  chosen,  devoting  to  it  his 
life,  following  it  with   a    firm  and   unfaltering  step, 


RELIGION  NOT  UNMANLY.  75 

unawed  and  unseduced,  in  joy  and  sorrow,  in  success 
and  in  failure,  in  youth  and  age,  in  life  and  death. 
Such  a  man  is  the  Christian.  Read  the  apostle's  ac- 
count: *'By  pureness,  by  knowledge,  by  long-suffering, 
by  kindness,  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  by  love  unfeigned, 
by  the  word  of  truth,  by  the  power  of  God,  by  the  ar- 
mour of  righteousness  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the 
left,  by  honour  and  dishonour,  by  evil  report  and  good 
report,  as  deceivers,  and  yet  true,  as  unknown,  and  yet 
well  known,  as  dying,  and  behold!  we  live."  Is  not 
this  a  manly  form  of  character? 

III.  There  is  manliness  in  independence;  and  this  is 
emphatically  a  religious  virtue.  The  Christian  must  be 
singular,  and  pursue  a  path  not  trodden  by  the  mul- 
titude. And  he  must  be  content  ordinarily  to  pur- 
sue it  in  the  face  of  misconception,  misconstruction, 
remonstrance  and  derision.  This  is  to  no  small  ex- 
tent "the  offence  of  the  cross."  "Ye  are  not  of  this 
world."  Ye  are  "a  peculiar  people."  "Narrow  is 
tlr«  way;  and  few  there  be  that  find  it."  To  be  un- 
like others,  to  be  looked  upon  with  curiosity,  to  be 
thought  affected  or  ostentatious,  is  trying.  So,  to  keep 
a  separate  and  isolated  position,  to  be  one  by  one's  self, 
and  stand  an  anomaly  and  exception,  self-centred  and 
self-sustained,  w^ithout  the  ordinary  props  of  human  opi- 
nion and  usage,  requires  largely  independence  of  cha- 
racter. Independence  is  a  quality  of  manhood.  A 
child  is  a  conformist  and  a  copyist.  It  leans  upon 
the  parent,  and  holds  itself  up  by  clinging  to  an  older 
person,  as  the  ivy  hangs  upon  the  tree  or  wall.  It  goes 
in  leading  strings,  and  looks  timidly  out  for  examples 


Y6  SERMON  VI. 

and  precedents  and  authorities.  To  think  and  act  for 
himself,  to  mark  out  his  own  line  of  action  and  pursue 
it,  to  have  the  reasons  and  the  law  of  his  actions  in 
himself,  and  not  to  swerve  from  his  path  at  dictation 
or  censure  or  contempt,  is  to  vindicate  one's  maturity, 
to  act  the  part  of  a  man.  And  so  sensible  of  this  are 
the  young,  and  so  anxious  are  they  to  vindicate  their 
claim  to  this  distinction,  that  they  are  all  too  ready  to 
burst  the  trammels  of  restraint,  throw  off  the  control 
of  outward  authority,  and  walk  in  unfettered  freedom ; 
even  though  it  be,  as  alas !  too  often  it  is,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  obligations  which  God  has  stamped  with  an 
inviolable  sacredness,  and  in  disregard  of  principles 
which  no  man  can  contemn  without  turning  liberty 
into  licentiousness.  But  no  man  on  earth  is  so  truly 
free  as  the  servant  of  God,  who,  receiving  his  direc- 
tions immediately  from  God,  "calls  no  man  master," 
but  walks  among  men  in  a  serene  majesty,  not  driven 
from  his  course  by  the  breath  of  applause,  the  shafts 
of  malice,  the  tides  of  fashion,  or  the  surges  of  change. 
His  is  but  a  childish  life  who  can  do  nothing  without 
stopping  to  inquire  what  this  man  thinks,  and  that 
man  says,  and  another  man  does,  who  is  now  awed  by 
threats,  and  now  seduced  by  flatteries.  He  is  not  yet 
done  with  leading  strings  and  toys  and  rods,  though 
he  have  the  stature  of  a  giant  and  the  front  of  a  bra- 
vo. Nothing  so  emancipates  a  man  out  of  this  condi- 
tion as  religion ;  for  nothing  so  lifts  him  up  above  this 
world,  and  enables  him  to  see  its  true  vanity  and  no- 
thingness. It  raises  him  up  into  the  sense  of  God's 
presence  and  the  sunlight  of  his  favour,  and  infuses 


KELIGION  NOT  UNMANLY.  77 

into  him  the  noble  equanimity  of  a  soul  that  rests  in 
peace  and  walks  at  liberty,  because  it  keeps  God's 
commandments.     There  is  no  manliness  like  that. 

Does  not  religion  then  stand  vindicated  from  the 
charge  of  unmanliness  ?  And  is  not  David's  counsel 
to  Solomon  his  son  justified  and  sustained — Be  man- 
ly and  be  religious,  be  manly  in  your  religion,  and 
religious  in  order  to  be  manly?  Is  not  religion  suc- 
cessfully rescued  from  one  of  the  most  effective  and 
damaging  aspersions  that  is  ever  cast  upon  it — that  it 
is  unmanly,  that  it  is  a  suitable  thing  for  the  softer 
sex,  and  pretty  in  children,  but  not  at  all  fit  for  robust, 
hardy,  deep-thinking,  bold-acting  men  ?  It  is  not  in 
the  slightest  degree  true.  If  the  thought  ever  visits 
you,  it  is  a  whisper  of  the  devil.  If  to  have  the  high- 
est and  worthiest  aim,  the  aim  that  most  fills  out  our 
nature,  and  most  exercises  and  improves  its  powers, 
and  to  pursue  it  with  an  energetic  will  and  an  unfal- 
tering independence,  be  manliness,  religion  is  manliness, 
manliness  by  distinction,  manliness  by  emphasis.  I 
say  it  to  all,  to  men,  especially  to  young  men,  to  those 
whose  glorying  is  in  the  thought  they  are  about  to 
pass  into  the  condition  of  young  men — Be  not  be- 
guiled out  of  your  true  dignity  and  welfare  by  the  false 
insinuation  that  sin  is  manly,  that  vice  is  manly, 
that  gayety  is  manly,  that  pleasure  is  manly,  that 
business  is  manly,  that  devotion  to  the  world  is  manly, 
in  fine,  that  any  thing  is  manly  but  to  fear  God  and 
keep  his  commandments,  to  rely  on  Christ  and  follow 
his  example,  to  care  for  the  soul  and  provide  for  eter- 
nity.    Oh !  look  and  see  what  in  a  few  years  the  false 


78  SERMON  vr. 

manliness  of  the  world  will  come  to.  See  tlie  man, 
his  resources  exhausted,  his  strength  brought  low,  his 
hope  perished,  the  world  proved  to  him  a  liar  and 
waters  that  fail,  time  irredeemably  wasted,  eternity  a 
blank  except  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  "looking  for  of  judg- 
ment." No,  he  knows  that  the  things  that  once  seemed 
so  grand  to  him  were  but  painted  shadows,  and  that 
he  has  prostituted  his  being  to  the  service  of  trifles 
not  worthy  of  a  man.  "  Thou  hast  sown  the  wind, 
and  thou  shalt  reap  the  whirlwind."  We  have  a  truer 
manliness  to  propose  to  you,  one  worthier  of  your  na- 
ture and  your  destination.  Be  strong,  and  show  your- 
selves men,  and  keep  the  charge  of  the  Lord  your  God, 
and  walk  in  his  ways,  to  keep  his  statutes,  and  his 
commandments,  and  his  judgments,  and  his  testimo- 
nies, as  it  is  written  in  his  law,  and  above  all  in  that 
best  and  newest  law,  the  Gospel  of  his  Son,  that  ye 
may  prosper  in  all  that  ye  do  and  whithersoever  ye 
turn  yourselves  in  this  world,  and  go  up  to  dwell  with 
God  and  the  angels,  and  be  like  them  in  the  world  of 
everlasting  life. 


THE  FIRST  WAYS  OF  DAVID.  79 


SERMON  YII. 

THE    FIRST    WAYS    OF    DAVID. 

He  walked  in  the  first  ways  of  Ms  father  David. — 2  Chronicles, 
XVII.  3. 

These  words  contain  a  pattern  and  a  warning. 
The  pattern  is  "the  first  ways  of  David,"  which  are 
praised ;  and  the  warning  refers  to  certain  other  ways 
of  David,  which  by  implication  are  set  in  unfavoura- 
ble contrast  with  them,  and  at  least  by  comparison 
censured.  They  are  spoken  of  Jehoshaphat,  one  of 
David's  descendants  and  successors  on  the  throne. 
The  historian  evidently  means  to  commend  him,  when 
he  says  that  he  imitated  and  resembled  his  illustrious 
ancestor;  and  he  heightens  the  eulogy  by  a  limita- 
tion. He  does  not  say  that  he  walked  in  the  ways  of 
David  generally,  but  that  he  walked  in  his  first  ways. 
The  merit  of  the  copy  is  thus  advanced  at  the  expense 
of  the  pattern.  It  is  not  obscurely  intimated  in  this 
expression  that  David's  first  ways  were  his  best  ways ; 
and  that  there  were  later  ways  of  his  which  detracted 
from  his  excellence  as  a  model,  and  rendered  him,  in  a 
qualified  manner  and  to  a  limited  extent  only,  an  ob- 
ject of  God's  approval,  and  of  the  admiration  and 
imitation  of  men. 

Now  it  is  peculiarly  sad  to  see  that  these  better 
ways  of  David  were  his  first  ways,  and  that  the  other 


80  SERMON  VII. 

ways  of  his  which  compare  unfavourably  with  them 
were  the  ways  of  a  more  advanced  period  of  his  life. 
For  this  is  the  reverse  of  what  ought  to  have  been, 
as  it  is  in  contradiction  of  the  true  order  of  the 
spiritual  life.  The  law  of  that  life  is  progress,  a 
"going  from  strength  to  strength,"  a  "shining  more 
and  more  unto  the  perfect  day,"  a  "growing  in  grace 
and  in  the  knowledge  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ."  A  retrograde  motion  in  it  is  a  violation  of 
its  nature  and  a  frustration  of  its  intent.  Deteriora- 
tion in  goodness  is  a  disease  and  an  anomaly.  Weak- 
ness is  natural  in  infants,  and  waywardness  not  strange 
in  children;  but  weak  and  wayward  men  are  unna- 
tural and  repulsive.  The  Church  of  Thyatira  had  for 
its  commendation  that  its  "last"  works  were  "more 
than  the  first."  So  they  should  always  be,  more, 
not  only  in  number,  but  in  greatness  and  excellence 
and  worth,  more  pure  from  alloy  and  exception,  more 
entirely  pervaded  and  animated  with  holy  and  hea- 
venly motives  and  principles.  But  so  it  was  not  with 
David.  And  so,  when  the  annalist  of  impartial  inspi- 
ration would  commend  an  honoured  descendant  of  his 
for  his  similarity  to  him,  he  is  obliged  to  do  it  with  a 
drawback  and  an  exception  which  greatly  detract  from 
his  honour,  and  to  say,  that  when  Jehoshaphat  went 
well,  he  walked  not  in  all  the  ways  of  David,  but  in 
his  first  ways  only.  And,  alas  I  it  is  so  too  often. 
Too  often,  are  we  obliged  to  exclaim,  in  view  of  mani- 
festations that  disappoint  our  hopes,  "Ye  did  run 
well:  who  did  hinder  you?"  "Who  hath  bewitched 
you?"  "  I  marvel;"  "  I  stand  in  doubt  of  you."  Quite 


THE  FIRST  WAYS  OF  DAVID.  81 

enough  tliere  is  of  this  sad  retroversion  in  the  spiritual 
world  to  make  us  treuible  and  distrust  ourselves; 
quite  enough  to  give  point  and  emphasis  to  the  apos- 
tolic admonitions,  "Let  him  that  thinketh  he  standeth 
take  heed  lest  he  fall." — "Look  to  yourselves  that  ye 
lose  not  those  things  which  ye  have  wrought,  but  that 
ye  receive  a  full  reward." 

And  here,  we  cannot  but  notice  the  candour  and 
impartiality  which  characterize  the  accounts  of  good 
men  in  Scripture.  Herein,  how  greatly  do  these  in- 
spired descriptions  differ  from  merely  human  biogra- 
phies. The  Bible  has  no  human  idols.  It  presents 
to  view  no  "faultless  monsters,"  free  from  the  infir- 
mity and  corruption  which  cleave  to  our  fallen  nature. 
One  only  it  portrays  "without  sin,"  "  the  man  Christ 
Jesus;"  and  he  "was  conceived  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
born  of  the  Virgin  Mary."  Fault  and  virtue  it  sets 
side  by  side  in  all  other  cases,  and  with  equal  distinct- 
ness and  prominence;  the  fault  without  disguise  or 
apology  or  extenuation,  notwithstanding  the  free  and 
generous  praise  with  which  it  sums  the  estimate,  not 
shrinking  from  narrating  the  adultery  and  murder  of 
him,  whom  yet  it  scruples  not  to  call  "the  man  after 
God's  own  heart."  Herein  it  shows  itself  divine.  It 
is  God  dealing  with  men,  and  not  man  with  man — a 
penetrating,  discriminating,  accurate,  thorough,  right- 
eous judgment,  free  alike  from  flattery  and  from  harsh- 
ness, that  tells  the  whole  with  an  unfaltering  sincerity, 
putting  down  naught  in  malice,  concealing  naught 
from  favour,  and  speaking  forth  the  conclusion  in  a 
clear,  authoritative  tone  of  solemn  certainty  and  con- 
8 


82  SERMON  vii. 

scious  power.  The  Bible,  in  its  way  of  dealing  with 
the  lives  and  characters  of  men  almost  as  much  as  in 
any  thing,  bespeaks  itself  the  voice  of  God.  Men  are 
afraid  to  tell  the  misdeeds  of  their  heroes  and  saints, 
lest  the  cause  should  suffer,  and  the  meed  of  praise 
they  seek  for  them  be  lost  or  marred.  But  God  de- 
scribes good  men  to  us  as  they  are,  good  but  partially, 
good  in  certain  measures  and  respects,  good  not  in 
that  their  goodness  is  perfect,  but  good  in  spite  of 
various  defects  and  blemishes ;  our  models,  but  as  much 
admonitions ;  in  their  broken  and  interrupted  course  of 
godly  living  yet  approved  of  God,  encouragements  of 
those,  who,  while  they  would  live  godly,  feel  the  work- 
ings of  sin  in  their  members,  and  warnings  to  be  ever 
w^atching  and  guarding  against  the  sins  that  most 
easily  beset  us,  and  the  temptations  that  encompass 
our  paths. 

It  is  further  worthy  of  notice,  that  the  unfavourable 
change  in  David's  spiritual  course,  which  now  engages 
our  attention,  was  connected  with  an  equally  marked 
change  in  his  outward  condition.  The  first  and  best 
ways  of  David  were  the  ways  of  David  the  shepherd ; 
the  later  and  worse  ways  of  David  were  the  ways  of 
David  the  king.  The  change  from  an  obscure  to  a 
public  situation,  from  adverse  circumstances  to  pros- 
perity, is  a  great  moral  trial,  through  which  few  pass 
entirely  unharmed.  That  must  be  a  robust  and  vigor- 
ous goodness  indeed,  ^hich  can  undergo  such  a  tran- 
sition without  injury.  Men  that  are  seeking  great 
things  for  themselves  in  this  world,  are  putting  their 
spiritual  interests   to  fearful  hazard.     Spiritual  loss 


THE  FIRST  WAYS  OF  DAVID.  83 

is  loss  for  eternity,  and  is  poorly  compensated  by  any 
measure  of  temporal  gain  or  advancement.  "  What 
shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and 
lose  his  own  soul?"  or  even  do  but  defraud  his  soul 
of  some  portion  of  its  heavenly  birthright?  That  is 
bad  thrift,  that,  for  any  earthly  advantage,  chooses  a 
condition  less  favourable  to  the  great  business  of  work- 
ing out  our  salvation.  The  earlier  period  of  David's 
life  was  first  lowly  and  then  afilicted.  Then  his  ways 
pleased  the  Lord;  then  they  were  good  ways,  de- 
serving of  almost  unqualified  commendation ;  then  his 
character  shone  in  the  lustre  of  virtue  and  holiness, 
and  secured  for  him  the  favour  of  God  and  the  sympa- 
thy of  good  men.  But  by  and  by  he  sat  upon  a 
throne.  The  lustre  of  earthly  greatness  surrounded 
him.  Wealth,  power,  splendour,  luxury  adorned  his 
condition.  But,  alas  !  the  lustre  of  his  goodness  grew 
dim.  Grievous  sin  marred  his  life.  And  though  he 
repented  and  was  forgiven,  and  followed  the  Lord  ever 
after,  it  is  quite  evident  that  the  stain  was  never 
wholly  wiped  from  his  conscience,  that  his  spiritual 
strength  and  peace  were  sadly  impaired,  that  the 
beauty  of  his  example  was  soiled  and  clouded,  and  the 
shadow  of  God's  displeasure  darkened  the  remnant  of 
his  days.  It  was  the  prosperity  of  David  that  proved 
a  snare  to  him.  A  life  of  ease  and  indulgence  relaxed 
the  tone  of  his  religion.  He  forgot  to  watch  and  pray. 
He  grew  less  sensible  of  his  weakness  and  dependence. 
Temptation  found  him  off  his  guard.  He  fell,  and  the 
blot  of  so  great  a  fall,  not  all  the  tears  he  shed,  nor 
all  the  calamities  that  befell  him,  nor  all  his  efi'orts  to 


84  SERMON  VII. 

retrieve  his  fault,  nor  all  his  meek  submission  under 
the  chastisement  of  God,  could  wipe  from  the  inspired 
record,  or  erase  from  his  reputation  and  his  memory. 
David  a  shepherd,  David  a  fugitive,  turned  to  be  DaVid 
a  king,  might  be  to  unthinking  men  an  object  of  con- 
gratulation and  envy.  But  wiser  judges  will  not  be 
slow  to  conclude,  that  David,  when  he  sang  his  sweet 
pastoral  psalm  in  the  fields  of  Bethlehem,  and  looked 
up  to  God  with  calm  submission  and  confidence  as  he 
fled  before  the  persecutions  of  Saul,  is  the  David  to 
be  loved  and  admired,  and  honoured,  and  envied,  and 
imitated ;  and  not  David  reclining  with  lascivious 
glances  on  the  roof  of  his  palace  at  eventide,  issuing 
forth  iniquitous  orders  to  Joab,  smiling  with  deceitful 
friendship  on  the  faithful  and  heroic  Uriah,  and  fol- 
lowed to  the  end  of  a  long  life  of  kingly  splendour  and 
success,  with  memorials  of  his  folly,  the  rebuke  of  his 
God,  the  reproaches  of  his  conscience,  and  the  blas- 
phemings  on  his  account  of  the  enemies  of  God. 

There  are  indeed  few  more  lovely  moral  pictures 
than  that  which  the  Scriptures  present  of  those  first 
ways  of  David,  which  the  text  commends.  We  see 
him  emerging  from  the  retirement  of  the  country  in 
early  youth  into  the  trying  scenes  of  the  camp  and 
the  court,  the  shepherd  boy  suddenly  transformed 
into  the  champion  and  the  hero,  the  king's  minstrel, 
his  armour-bearer,  his  general  and  his  son-in-law, 
praised  and  courted,  the  object  of  general  notice  and 
applause.  But  he  bears  himself  in  his  new  position 
with  singular  modesty,  propriety  and  integrity,  a  duti- 
ful subject,  a  faithful  friend,  a  devout  and  conscien- 


THE  FIRST  WAYS  OF  DAVID.  85 

tious  worshipper  of  God.  Soon  he  is  designated  to 
the  throne,  and  thereupon  he  becomes  an  object  of  the 
king's  jealousy  and  suspicion ;  regard  turns  to  hatred, 
and  favour  to  persecution.  He  is  driven  from  the 
court,  and  wanders  a  fugitive  in  his  own  country,  and 
at  last,  a  voluntary  exile  beyond  its  borders.  Under 
this  new  form  of  trial  he  continues  as  before  to  behave 
himself  wisely  and  conscientiously,  and  shine  in  the 
furnace  of  affliction  even  more  than  under  the  radiance 
of  prosperity.  He  had  borne  elevation  well.  It  had 
done  him  no  harm  to  be  turned  from  a  shepherd  into 
a  prince  and  the  expectant  of  a  throne.  He  bears  de- 
pression equally  well.  He  sinks  into  a  vagabond  and 
the  captain  of  a  band  of  outlaws,  and  is  in  these  dan- 
gerous and  questionable  conditions,  not  a  whit  less 
noble,  pure,  upright  and  faithful,  than  he  was  in  his 
country  home  and  at  the  court.  The  court  of  Saul 
and  the  fastnesses  of  the  Dead  Sea  alike  witness  his 
fervent  prayers  and  devout  psalms  of  praise.  Nothing 
shakes  his  confidence  in  God,  or  betrays  him  into  un- 
worthy courses  of  action.  He  holds  fast  his  integrity, 
worships  Jehovah  alone  in  the  midst  of  pagans,  never 
doubts  his  faithfulness  when  appearances  are  most 
unfavourable,  never  resorts  to  questionable  means  to 
attain  the  throne  which  God  had  promised  him,  or 
fails  in  loyalty  and  respect  to  its  occupant,  though  he 
was  abandoned  of  God  and  turned  into  a  bitter  enemy. 
He  loves  Jonathan  with  a  tenderness  and  a  magna- 
nimity and  a  constancy  most  remarkable,  and  mourns 
his  fall  with  undissembled  sorrow,  though  his  death  was 
the  removal  of  the  chief  impediment  to  his  exaltation. 

8* 


86  SERMON  VII. 

He  was  a  man  of  faith,  of  prayer,  of  fidelity,  of  virtue, 
affectionate,  generous,  long-suffering,  unselfish,  patient, 
firm.  He  was  not  faultless  even  then.  Inspiration 
faithfully  records  the  errors  and  weaknesses  of  even 
these  his  first  and  better  ways.  If  they  had  not  been 
recorded,  we  might  well  have  doubted  the  truthfulness 
of  the  portrait;  for  he  was  human,  and  "  there  is  no 
man  that  liveth  and  sinneth  not."  But  the  picture  is 
certainly  one  of  rare  beauty,  and  the  moral  percep- 
tions of  that  heart  must  be  dull  indeed  that  does  not 
recognise  and  own  the  loveliness. 

But  when  David  was  at  last  seated  upon  the  throne 
of  Israel  in  magnificence  and  luxury  and  ease,  he  fell 
into  that  grievous  sin  which  so  deforms  his  history, 
and  casts  so  deep  and  mournful  a  shadow  over  the 
later  portion  of  his  life.  He  was  a  penitent  all  the 
rest  of  his  days.  The  frown  of  God  followed  him, 
though  his  sin  was  forgiven.  And  the  one  broad  and 
fearful  chasm  which  breaks  the  continuity  of  his  godly 
course,  mars  his  memory  among  men,  and  leaves  him 
after  all  to  the  Church  in  after  times  more  a  mo- 
nition than  a  model.  God  would  teach  us,  it  might 
seem,  by  him,  not  to  be  "high-minded,  but  fear;" 
never  to  feel  that  we  are  secure  from  falling  even 
into  gross  transgressions ;  that  no  length  of  service  or 
eminence  of  virtue  is  a  certain  protection  against 
temptation ;  above  all,  to  distrust  ourselves  in  the  hour 
of  enjoyment  and  fulness ;  and  to  be  sure,  that  while 
"  there  is  mercy  with  him  that  he  may  be  feared,"  he 
is  severe  upon  the  transgressions  of  his  servants,  and 


THE  FIRST  WAYS  OF  DAVID.  87 

will  save  only  as  by  fire  those  who  swerve  from  their 
integrity  in  his  service. 

See  here  then  the  danger  of  prosperity.     David  had 
passed  through  one  period  of  prosperity  unhurt.     A 
country  lad  was  suddenly  transfornied  into  an  object 
of  popular  adulation  and  kingly  patronage,  a  cham- 
pion, a  hero,  a  victor,  a  deliverer,  put  in  possession 
of  much,  and  encouraged  to  hope  for  more.     David 
bore  that  trial  well.     We  do  not  see  that  under  it  in 
any  respect  he  behaved  himself  unseemly.     But  then 
there  were  circumstances  about  it  well  fitted  to  neu- 
tralize its  dangers.     It  was   short,  precarious,  uncer- 
tain, and  attended  with  annoyances  and  perils.  Saul's 
jealousy  sprang  up  almost  at  its  beginning;  and  he 
was  soon  made  to  feel  how  unsafe   and  thorny  is  the 
eminence  that  hangs  on  prince's   favours,  and  admo- 
nished by  the  quickly  waning  love  and  growing  hos- 
tility of  his  royal  patron,  to    put  not   his  trust  in 
princes,  nor  in  any  child  of  man.     But  the  prosperity 
that  waited  on  his  royal  state  was  of  another  and  a 
far  more  perilous  description.     His  enemies  had  all 
vanished.     His  throne  seemed  firmly  established  in 
the  promise  of  God  and  the  favour  of  men.     His  cup 
ran  over.     He  had  more  than  heart  could  wish.     All 
this   goodliness  wore  an   appearance  of  security  and 
stability.     He  was  tempted  to  say,  "  Soul,  take  thine 
ease,  thou  hast  much  goods  laid  up  for  many  years, 
eat,  drink,  and  be  merry."     His  heart  was  lifted  up. 
He  forgot  God.     He  grew  arrogant,  selfish  and  sen- 
sual.    Temptation  overtook  him,  and  he  fell,  grievous- 
ly, shamefully,  heinously.     Ah  !  little  do  we  think 


88  SERMON  VII. 

"wliat  we  are  doing,  wlien  we  are  fretting  to  be  deli- 
vered from  our  wants  and  vexations,  longing  for  ease, 
fulness,  security,  to  be  free  from  annoyance  and  de- 
privation and  anxiety.  We  are  asking  for  that  which 
is  not  good  but  baneful,  to  be  placed  in  a  situation 
hazardous  to  our  spiritual  welfare,  and  full  of  the 
seeds  of  worse  and  more  enduring  evils  than  any  that 
now  oppress  us.  Far  better  is  it  for  us  to  rejoice 
that  we  are  under  the  wise  regimen  of  One  who  pre- 
fers our  profiting  before  our  pleasure,  to  submit  our- 
selves with  cheerfulness  and  patience  to  his  fatherly 
correction,  and  only  pray,  "Lead  us  not  into  tempta- 
tion, but  deliver  us  from  evil." 

Again  we  see,  that  men  are  not  to  be  our  patterns, 
but  only  "the  Man  Christ  Jesus."  The  saints  of 
Scripture,  it  is  instructive  to  see,  are  all  imperfect  and 
blemished  specimens  of  sanctity.  We  can  follow  them 
only  in  parts  and  phases  and  passages.  With  much 
to  admire  and  rejoice  in  we  see  much  to  condemn  and 
regret.  It  is  encouraging  to  us  under  our  own  op- 
pressive and  painful  sense  of  infirmity,  to  see  that 
those  whom  God  most  commends  and  honours  were 
such  as  we.  We  too  may  hope  for  acceptance  and 
reward  in  all  our  imperfection  at  the  same  gracious 
hands.  It  may  often  keep  our  hearts  from  sinking 
and  our  hope  from  dying  out,  to  look  at  the  case  of 
those  who  have  gone  before  us  in  serving  God.  But 
w^e  must  be  careful  not  to  abuse  this  consolation. 
Sanctity  does  not  sanctify  the  sins  of  good  men.  Evil 
is  not  the  less  evil  because  good  men  do  it.  Scrip- 
ture deals,  we  see,  impartially  with  its  favourites.     It 


THE  FIRST  WAYS  OF  DAVID.  89 

has  no  varnish  to  conceal  the  transgressions  of  those 
whom  it  praises.  It  calls  their  sins  sins,  and  it  con- 
demns them  as  distinctly  and  as  severely  as  it  does 
those  of  the  vilest  offenders,  and  it  points  out  without 
reserve  their  mischief  to  them  and  to  others.  We 
are  not  to  think  the  more  favourably  of  adultery  and 
murder  because  David  was  guilty  of  them;  or  to 
take  shelter  under  the  example  of  good  and  great 
names  to  excuse  our  faults ;  or  think  ourselves  safe  in 
going  on  in  wicked  ways  because  those  whom  God 
praises  fell  into  grievous  offences.  This  is  to  pervert 
and  not  to  profit  by  Scripture.  One  Man  alone  we 
can  look  up  to  with  unqualified  admiration,  and  fol- 
low with  unhesitating  steps,  Christ  Jesus,  "  made  of 
a  woman,  made  under  the  law."  He  is  the  pattern 
man;  He  left  us  an  example  that  we  should  follow 
his  steps ;  He  did  no  sin ;  and  wherever  we  can  see 
his  footsteps,  we  shall  be  safe  to  walk,  assured  that 
they  and  they  only  mark  with  undeviating  steadiness 
and  certainty  the  narrow  way  that  leadeth  unto  life. 

Finally,  let  us  always  be  looking  out  for  the  symp- 
toms and  beginnings  of  spiritual  decline.  Never  are 
we  so  safe  as  when  we  feel  unsafe.  "  Happy  is  the 
man  that  feareth  always."  They  that  "feed  them- 
selves without  fear"  are  sure  to  fall  into  mischief. 
And  what  room  is  there  among  men  for  a  feeling  of 
security?  Surely  none.  Is  there  any  eminence  of 
goodness,  from  which  men  have  not  fallen  into  grievous 
transgression?  any  length  of  continuance  in  God's 
service  which  will  secure  us  from  swerving  from  it? 
any  safe  endurance  of  trials  which  will  assure  us  that 


90  SERMON  VII. 

some  trial  may  not  yet  be  too  great  for  us  ?  Ah,  bre- 
thren !  there  is  no  security  like  that  of  always  feeling 
ourselves  insecure,  always  remembering  that  we  are 
in  an  enemy's  country  beset  by  implacable  and  trea- 
cherous foes,  always  feeling  that  our  nature  is  w^eak, 
inclined  to  err,  open  to  assaults,  ready  to  concur  with 
temptation,  imperfectly  sanctified,  and  dependent  con- 
tinually on  new  supplies  of  grace.  Oh !  then,  let  us 
beware  of  falling  back  in  our  Christian  course,  and  of 
so  blemishing  our  Christian  calling  that  our  first  ways 
shall  be  our  best  ways.  Let  us  "  watch  and  pray, 
lest  we  enter  into  temptation."  Let  us  distrust  our- 
selves and  lean  only  upon  God. 


THE  WORK  AND  WARFARE  OF  LIFE.  91 


SERMON  VIII. 

THE   WORK   AND    WARFARE    OF   LIFE. 

They  -which  builded  on  the  wall,  and  they  that  bare  burdens,  -with 
those  that  laded,  every  one  -with  one  of  his  hands  wrought  in  the 
work,  and  with  the  other  hand  held  a  weapon.  For  the  builders, 
every  one  had  his  sword  girded  by  his  side,  and  so  builded. — Ne- 
HE3UAH  IV.  17,  18. 

Life  is  work,  and  life  is  warfare ;  and  these  are 
ever  commingled;  so  that  when  we  work  we  must 
fight,  and  when  we  fight  we  must  work.  Thus  our 
earthly  being  is  always  a  scene  of  mingled  toil  and 
battle,  labour  and  conflict ;  and  the  case  of  those  Jews, 
as  the  text  describes  it,  who  wrought  in  restoring  Je- 
rusalem when  "the  streets  were  built  again,  and  the 
wall,  even  in  troublous  times,"  is  not  at  all  singular,  is 
indeed  but  an  epitome  and  a  sample  of  that  larger  and 
longer  work  which  fills  the  broad  area  of  all  human 
history.  "  There  remaineth  a  rest  for  the  people  of 
God;"  but  that  rest  is  not  here,  save  as  they  which 
do  believe  do  enter  into  rest,  inward  rest,  that  repose 
and  tranquillity  of  spirit  through  reconciliation  to 
God  and  submission  to  his  will,  which  is  a  foretaste 
of  "the  glory  that  shall  be  revealed."  Now,  we  can 
only  toil,  and  seek  by  strenuous  and  perpetual  endea- 
vour to  fulfil  the  duty  to  which  we  were  sworn  at  our 
baptism,  and  "  continue  Christ's  faithful  soldiers  and 
servants  unto  our  life's  end." 


92  SERMON  VIII. 

This  life  then  is  to  men  but  a  scene  of  toil.  "  In 
the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread,"  is  a  de- 
cree which  has  suffered  no  repeal  or  relaxation,  which, 
indeed,  is  irrepealable,  and  must  last  as  long  as  time. 
It  is  the  universal  and  unchanging  law  of  human  life. 
We  are  born  under  it ;  under  it  we  live ;  and  when 
we  die,  we  leave  it  an  inheritance  to  our  children.  I 
speak  of  work,  not  as  it  stands  in  opposition  to  inac- 
tion, but  as  it  is  distinguished  from  play.  Inaction  is 
no  blessing.  The  spirit  of  man  stagnates  and  sickens 
under  it,  and  it  issues  in  a  weariness  which  is  worse 
than  the  fatigue  of  labour.  Activity  is  needful  to  the 
true  enjoyment  of  life.  Adam  was  not  inactive  in 
paradise:  God  put  him  into  the  garden  of  Eden  ''to 
dress  it  and  to  keep  it."  There  is  an  activity  that  is 
pleasurable  and  contains  its  own  reward.  But  this, 
as  I  have  hinted  above,  is  play.  Herein  then  lies  the 
difference  between  play  and  work, — the  one  is  directly 
pleasurable,  the  other  is  not ;  the  one  men  seek  on  its 
own  account,  the  other  on  account  of  what  it  promises ; 
the  one  contains,  or  rather  is,  its  own  requital,  the 
other  has  its  recompense  in  fruits  which  are  more  or 
less  uncertain  and  remote.  The  former  is  life's  pas- 
time or  recreation,  with  which  the  toiler  finds  refresh- 
ment and  relief  in  the  pauses  and  intervals  of  his 
labour.  A  very  small  part  of  life's  pleasure  is  found 
in  idleness,  that  is,  in  an  entire  cessation  of  activity  and 
complete  repose  of  the  powers.  Indeed  this  is  never 
directly  and  positively  pleasurable,  but  only  as  it  in- 
volves a  sense  of  release  and  a  feeling  of  contrast ; 
and  if  prolonged,  it  soon  grows  insufferable,  and  is  a 


THE  WORK  AND  WARFARE  OF  LIFE.  93 

far  worse  condition  than  that  of  which  it  has  taken 
the  place.  Heaven  is  a  rest,  but  not  a  rest  of  indo- 
lence. There  "his  servants  do  serve  him."  And  his 
angels  are  "his  servants  that  do  his  pleasure."  Ex- 
ercise and  exertion  are  not  evils  intrinsically.  The 
evil  that  cleaves  to  them  lies  in  their  direction,  and  in 
the  effects  that  are  attendant  upon  them.  Life,  how- 
ever, is  not  the  scene  of  recreation  and  pastime,  a  play- 
ground and  pleasure-house  for  man,  in  which  he  is 
left  only  to  such  activity  as  he  craves  for  the  satisfaction 
that  is  in  it,  and  delightful  employment  comes  only 
to  add  zest  to  delicious  repose.  Life  is  full  of 
another  kind  of  activity,  of  an  activity  that  is  irk- 
some and  painful,  that  at  the  best  yields  no  pleasure, 
and  oftentimes  is  disagreeable,  or  even  distressing. 
This  is  work.  It  consists  in  an  exertion  of  the  faculties 
of  body  or  of  mind  for  a  good  which  is  future,  which  is 
not  in  the  exertion  itself  or  immediately  consequent 
upon  it,  but  removed  from  it  by  an  interval  more  or  less 
prolonged,  an  interval  moreover  that  contains  in  it  op- 
portunity of  failure,  defeat  and  disappointment.  Of 
this  life  is  full.  This  forms  the  staple  of  its  business. 
This  is  bound  upon  it  by  a  law  irrevocable  and  inexora- 
ble, which  no  strength  can  resist,  which  no  art  can 
evade.  If  any  man  will  not  work,  neither  shall  he  eat, 
is  a  true  saying,  whether  taken  literally  or  in  figure.  J 
The  greater  part  of  human  life  is  occupied  in  labours 
which  bring  with  them  no  agreeable  sensations,  nor 
immediate  and  sure  recompense,  the  good  results  of 
which  lie  off  in  the  impenetrable  and  dubious  future, 
a  future  veiled  from  sight,  and  overhung  with  sha- 
9 


94  SERMON  VIII. 

dows,  a  future  that  is  under  the  absolute  control,  not 
of  the  worker  himself,  but  of  One,  who,  not  in  ca- 
price but  in  wisdom,  has  determined  that  the  race  shall 
not  always  be  to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle  to  the  strong, 
nor  bread  to  the  wise,  nor  riches  to  men  of  under- 
standing, nor  favour  to  men  of  skill — who  has  involved 
the  issues  of  human  labour  in  hopeless  doubt  and  ob- 
scurity. We  toil  for  a  contingent  good,  so  far  at  least 
as  it  is  earthly,  and,  to  no  small  extent,  even  as  it  is 
heavenly,  contingent  not  on  any  doubtful  promise  or 
doubtful  fidelity  of  the  great  Rewarder,  but  on  our 
working  rightly,  and  our  working  perseveringly,  amid 
misleading  influences,  and  with  a  weak  flesh  in  a  se- 
ductive world.  Truly,  then,  we  work  blindly  and  in 
darkness.  Much  of  our  work  yields  no  present  or 
speedy  returns.  ''  We  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight." 
The  invisible  and  the  distant  and  the  uncertain  is 
that  which  claims  our  endeavours.  We  only  know 
that  we  can  have  nothing  without  them ;  and  yet  we 
do  not  know  that  we  shall  have  what  we  seek  with 
them.  We  are  tempted  to  discontinue  them ;  but  that 
would  only  be  to  render  past  efforts  vain,  and  forfeit 
the  possible  fruit  of  them,  yet  unrealized  and  undis- 
covered, that  may  be  hidden  somewhere  in  futurity. 
So  we  are  driven  to  labour  still,  that  we  may  not  lose 
past  labour;  and  whenever  we  begin  to  slacken  our 
exertions,  hear  in  our  ears  the  monitory  words,  "Look 
to  yourselves  that  ye  lose  not  those  things  that  ye 
have  wrought,  but  that  ye  receive  a  full  reward." 
Such  labour  involves  self-denial,  apprehension,  pa- 
tience, fatigue,  disappointment.     This  is  work. 


THE  WORK  AND  WARFARE  OF  LIFE.  95 

And  this  work  is  manifold.  There  is  work  for  the 
mind  and  work  for  the  hand,  work  that  calls  into  ac- 
tion all  the  faculties  of  the  soul  and  all  the  organs  of 
the  body.  Few  and  short  are  the  intervals  that  can 
be  given  to  repose  or  recreation  by  him  who  aims  to 
do  it  faithfully.  The  life  of  man  is  always  under  a 
pressure.  Every  moment  has  its  call,  and  he  who 
does  not  heed  it  gives  up  to  waste  that  which  no  sub- 
sequent diligence  can  retrieve,  that  which  might  have 
added  honour  and  felicity  to  his  earthly  existence,  and 
earned  gems  for  his  eternal  crown,  that  for  which  God, 
who  gives  him  time,  and  power  to  employ  it  usefully, 
will  call  him  into  judgment  in  the  last  day.  Who  is 
there  that  can  ever  say  there  is  nothing  which  he 
ought  to  be  doing  ?  An  idler's  reckoning,  though  it 
embrace  few  charges  of  positive  transgression,  must 
answer  for  a  life  which  is  all  one  great  contravention 
of  the  will  of  Him  who  sent  him  into  the  world  to  work, 
to  be  a  productive  source  of  good  to  himself  and  to 
others,  and  to  glorify  the  Giver  of  all  that  he  has  by 
preparing  to  render  to  him  his  own  with  usury.  It 
was  the  condemnation  of  the  servant  in  the  parable, 
not  that  he  had  wasted  his  lord's  money,  not  that  he  had 
employed  it  to  any  unlawful  or  injurious  purpose,  but 
that  he  had  hidden  it,  that  he  had  done  nothing  with  it, 
that  he  had  suffered  it  to  lie  idle,  and  had  not  pre- 
pared by  use  to  render  it  back  with  increase. 

I  said,  the  work  of  life  is  manifold.  "All  things  are 
full  of  labour;  a  man  cannot  utter  it."  Every  man 
has  a  work  that  is  specific  and  peculiar  to  him.  In  all 
the  crowd  of  workers  there  is  not  one  that  has  a  task 


him  thst  is  tho  c:!Wiot  countorpart  of  any 
Oilier*  In  all  iho  list  of  alignment:!!  Uicro  are  no 
duplicAtos.  The  grwit  Taskmaster  never  set  two  of 
kis  creatuTt^s  the  same  task.  Amid  much  general  same- 
ness, there  is  the  strictest  indiTiduality. 

>Miat  an  immei\se  amount  of  activity  is  expended  in 
acquiring  the  means  of  subsistence  !  *'  All  the  labour 
of  man  is  for  his  mouth.''  **  The  king  himself  is 
served  by  the  field."  ^Vo  are  all  working  on  our  mo- 
tlier  earth  in  jx^rson  or  by  our  deputies.  For  every 
other  kind  of  labour  wore  vain,  if  this  s^hould  cease. 
Tliis  world  since  the  fall  is  a  sterile  and  refractory 
place,  and  yields  up  the  gonxi  that  is  in  it  only  in  re- 
w^iirvi  of  arduous  and  dithcult  efforts.  And  if  any  are 
exempt  from  the  direct  oflict?  of  husbandry,  it  is  only 
that  they  may  employ  themselves  in  producing  some- 
what els*,  which  may  K^  given  in  exchange  for  its  pro- 
ducts. And  if  any  have  attained  to  any  sort  of 
approximation  to  what  too  many  account  the  honour 
of  doing  nothing,  it  is  only  that  they  may  do  SaiAu's 
irork  more  diligently  and  effectively :  thoy  are  dobaseii, 
uid  in  spite  of  themselves,  unhappy.  How  great  is  the 
wuBilwr  of  Imiian  avocations  !  And  in  each  one  of 
tiiese  %T00Kd(His  what  a  number  of  workers !  And 
eiftidi  one  bas  at  task  given  him  to  do  which  is  as  dis- 
tinct as  IdiBself,  which  no  one  can  do  but  he,  which 
his  circwBBSlaaiees,  his  relations,  his  endowments  define, 
nnd  irlu^  in  this  great  scene  of  various  and  incessant 
m^vity,  stands  as  much  by  itself  as  though  it  were 
alone*  There  is  mental  as  well  as  bodily  activity, 
^  toil  of  BOi  whose  business  lies  chiefiy  in  thinking, 


THE  WORK  AUD  WAEPAKE  OF  LIFE,  .ii 

in  intellectual  action,  a  form  of  action  not  ibe  lets  labo- 
rious and  exhausting  and  wearisome,  beeanse  ils  results 
are  not  tangible  and  materiaL  3iindiJ  and  herarts  are 
at  work  everywhere,  noi-^eleusly,  each  in  its  own  hidden 
receptacle  and  sanctuary — a  busy  sc«ne,  into  wbicb  the 
eyes  of  men  do  not  penetrate  but  on  which  the  eye  of 
the  Lord  ia  op>en  continually,  where  lie  nerertbeless 
the  spring  and  wheels  that  put  and  keep  in  motion 
that  grand  and  vast  machinery  which  filb  and  ani- 
mates the  busy,  restless  arena  of  outward  human  life, 
Need  I  say  more  t>>  you  to  satisfy  you  that  life  is 
work  ?  For  all  these  beings  are  not  thus  active  be- 
cause it  pleases  them  so  to  be,  or  becai^e  they  have 
delight  in  what  they  do ;  but  because  they  have  a  task 
set  them,  and  there  is  One  over  them  that  takes  care 
that  they  sLall  labour  in  it,  and  binds  them  to  it  with 
a  necessity  whose  iron  chain  they  can  neither  break 
nor  escape,  that  Taskmaster,  whose  slaves  they  arc  if 
they  have  not  learned  to  do  his  will  from  their  hearts, 
*•  whose  service  is  j>erfect  freedom"  to  such  as  "look 
into  the  perfect  law  of  liberty  and  continue  therein/* 
And  this  thought  supplira  us  with  a  happy  transi- 
tion to  another  view  of  life's  work,  far  more  solemn 
and  important,  without  which  we  should  do  little  jus- 
tice to  it  or  to  yotL  I  refer  to  its  spiritual  depart- 
ment, that  work  of  the  soul  and  of  eternity,  which  en- 
wraps and  permeates  aU  human  activity,  which  digni- 
fies and  consecrates  it  all,  which  is  alone  worth  the 
notice  and  endeavours  of  an  immortal  creature,  in 
which  alone  is  fulfilled  the  great  end  of  his  being — "to 
glorify  God  and  to  enjoy  him  forever."     This  higher 

9* 


98  SERMON  VIII. 

end  contains  and  pervades  all  lower  ends,  and,  re- 
garded in  a  religious  spirit,  turns  things  most  secular 
in  themselves  into  a  sacred  intent  and  nature.  This 
spiritual  work  has  that  which  is  peculiar  to  itself,  and 
that  which  is  coincident  with  other  forms  of  action ; 
and  when  this  latter  is  taken  up  into  the  former, 
and  filled  with  its  sanctifying  influence,  it  hecomes 
sacred  also ;  and  thus  the  whole  life  is  serving  God, 
and  working  out  the  salvation  of  the  soul.  It  is  an 
ill  and  unsound  view  of  religion  to  regard  it  as  con- 
fined to  a  few  inward  feelings  and  peculiar  outward 
performances.  Rightly  viewed,  it  is  all-pervading, 
all-embracing.  Acts  directed  immediately  to  secular 
ends,  if  they  be  also  referred  to  spiritual  considera- 
tions, grow  spiritual;  and  God  may  thus  be  as  truly 
served  in  our  workshops  and  our  parlours  as  in  our 
churches  and  closets,  in  our  business  as  in  our  wor- 
ship. He  will  be,  if  he  is  truly  served  at  all.  The 
peculiar  work  of  religion  lies  in  the  inward  exercise 
of  faith  and  repentance,  in  devout  and  pious  affections, 
in  holy  purposes,  and  in  all  that  pertains  to  the  in- 
ward discipline  of  a  godly  life  ;  its  outward  part  in  the 
observances  which  pertain  to  the  Church,  either  in 
obedience  to  the  express  command  of  her  Lord,  or  in 
the  exercise  of  her  own  wise  and  maternal  discretion. 
But  it  extends  to  the  whole  work  of  life,  only  requiring 
that  we  should  "do  it  heartily  as  to  the  Lord  and  not 
to  men,"  that  "whether  we  eat  or  drink  or  whatever 
we  do  we  should  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God,"  to  make 
it  all  religious,  and  "an  offering  acceptable,  well  plea- 
sing to  God  through  Jesus  Christ."     This  business  of 


THE  WORK  AND  WARFARE  OF  LIFE.  99 

seeking  immortal  good,  and  training  the  soul  for 
heavenly  glory,  is  called  in  Scripture  a  work.  "  Work 
out  your  own  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling." 
"  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy 
might."  ^'Labour  not  for  the  meat  that  perisheth, 
but  for  that  which  endureth  unto  eternal  life."  "  Strive 
to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate."  And  truly  it  is  a 
work,  a  work  that  calls  for  ardour  and  earnestness 
and  resolution  and  patience,  for  self-denial  and  effort, 
and  strenuous  and  persevering  endeavour. 

But  it  is  quite  time  that  we  should  advert  to  that 
which  forms  the  peculiarity  of  this  work,  namely,  that 
it  is  a  fight  also — that  the  work  of  life  is  the  battle  of 
life,  and  the  true  worker  a  soldier.  For  we  are  not  to 
run  its  course  over  an  open  field,  but  over  a  field 
barred  by  obstructions,  and  infested  with  enemies. 
And  as  these,  in  their  passive  resistance  or  active  oppo- 
sition, are  everywhere  to  be  encountered,  they  render 
our  whole  life  a  warfare.  And  thus,  as  did  the  Jews, 
who  wrought  in  building  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  "from 
the  rising  of  the  morning  till  the  stars  appeared,"  so 
must  we,  if  we  would  labour  well,  and  finish  the  work 
that  is  given  us  to  do,  with  one  hand  toil  in  the  work, 
and  with  the  other  hand  hold  a  weapon.  Thus  every 
Christian  is  a  soldier  as  well  as  a  worker.  To  this 
double  office  he  is  sworn  at  the  font.  And  there,  the 
delicate  infant  in  the  pastor's  arms,  not  in  mockery, 
nor  by  a  pretty  figure  of  speech,  but  in  solemn  earnest- 
ness, and  serious  meaning,  and  dread  reality,  is  endued 
with  helmet  and  sword  and  shield,  not  only  bound  to 


100  SERMON  VIII. 

Christ's  service,  but  enlisted  under  Christ's  banner, 
to  "fight  manfully,"  as  well  as  work  patiently,  and 
"  continue  Christ's  faithful  soldier  and  servant  unto  his 
life's  end."  And  whosoever,  in  fulfilment  of  that  oath, 
seeks  to  apply  himself  in  earnest  to  the  duties  of  his 
high  vocation,  soon  finds  that  he  is  summoned  to  no 
mock  fight  or  holiday  parade,  but  to  a  real  conflict,  ar- 
duous, perilous  and  exhausting.  So  Scripture  repre- 
sents us.  We  are  to  "  take  to  ourselves  the  whole  armour 
of  God,"  "  to  fight  the  good  fight,"  "  to  fight  the  good 
fight  of  faith,"  that  we  may  be  "more  than  conquer- 
ors," and  "lay  hold  on  eternal  life;"  and  the  crown 
is  to  be  given  at  last  "  to  him  that  overcometh."  The 
whole  representation  of  the  Christian  life  in  the  Scrip- 
tures exhibits  it  as  undertaken  and  prosecuted  in  the 
face  of  difficulty  and  opposition,  incessant,  formidable 
and  manifold. 

We  have  to  fight  against  ourselves.  This  is  that 
great  enemy,  which  is  known  under  the  name  of  the 
flesh.  We  bring  to  the  task  of  working  out  our  sal- 
vation, alas !  but  divided  energies.  We  are  but  partly 
engaged  in  an  undertaking,  that  is  great  and  ardu- 
ous enough  to  employ  the  united  powers  of  the  whole 
man.  There  is  ever  a  part  of  us  that  is  hanging  back, 
and  we  must  turn  our  arms  against  our  own  refrac- 
tory and  reluctant  powers,  before  we  can  bring  them 
to  aid  us  in  our  combat  with  outward  foes.  Well  may 
we  pray,  "  Unite  my  heart  to  fear  thy  name."  We 
have  to  overcome  our  sluggishness,  our  unbelief,  our 
sensuality,  our  concupiscence,  the  heavy  clog  of  sense, 
and  the  fierce  impulse  of  corruption.     And  when  we 


THE  WOKK  AND  WARFARE  OF  LIFE.  101 

have  overcome  them,  we  must  renew  the  strife,  and 
conquer  them  again.  For  these  inward  enemies  are 
never  slain,  but  are  ever  rising  fresh  from  their  de- 
feats, and  making  ready  anew  to  battle.  Thus  "  the 
law  of  the  members  wars  against  the  law  of  the  mind." 
And  as  internal  wars  are  ever  fiercest  and  most  pain- 
ful, so  the  battle  ground  of  the  Christian's  own  heart 
is  that  on  which  he  is  called  to  wage  the  severest  fight 
and  win  the  hardest  victory. 

We  have  a  fight  against  men.  This  enemy  is  called 
the  world.  And  by  it  we  mean  that  vast  mass  of 
maxims,  opinions,  beliefs,  pursuits,  ways,  habits,  op- 
posed to  the  mind  and  service  of  God,  which  charac- 
terize human  society.  "Whosoever  will  be  the  friend 
of  the  world  is  the  enemy  of  God."  Against  all 
these,  the  Christian,  if  he  is  to  do  his  duty,  is  to  set 
himself  in  an  attitude  both  of  resistance  and  aggres- 
sion. The  influence  of  these  things  is  ever  reaching 
him  through  all  his  senses,  and  plying  him  with 
numberless  and  specious  arts,  to  corrupt  his  princi- 
ples, and  divert  him  from  his  course.  These  are 
what  St.  Paul  calls  "fiery  darts,"  against  which  "the 
shield  of  faith"  is  alone  availing.  It  is  a  world 
of  temptation ;  and  if  we  would  not  be  "  tempted  above 
that  we  are  able,"  we  must  be  ever  standing  on  our 
guard  and  watching  unto  prayer.  We  are,  moreover, 
to  contend  against  this  world,  to  rebuke  it,  to  unfurl 
the  banner  of  our  Master  openly  in  its  face,  to  set  up 
in  the  midst  of  it  opposite  principles,  persuasions,  doc- 
trines, objects,  purposes  and  courses,  and  not  only  to 
profess  but  to  love  them,  and  at  whatever  expense  of 


102  SERMON  VIII. 

hatred,  derision  or  persecution ;  and,  if  need  be,  contend 
unto  blood  and  unto  death  striving  against  sin. 

We  have  a  fight  against  spirits.  The  name  of 
this  enemy  is  the  devil  and  his  angels,  numerous, 
powerful  and  malignant.  Their  name  is  legion ;  for 
they  are  many.  "We  wrestle  not  against  flesh  and 
blood"  alone,  mere  human  wickedness  and  malignity, 
"but  against  principalities,  against  powers,  against 
the  rulers  of  the  darkness  of  this  world,  against  spi- 
ritual wickedness  in  high  places  " — spiritual  natures, 
fallen  from  their  first  estate  and  enlisted  in  the  cause 
of  evil,  of  high  original  dignity,  and  still  of  mighty 
strength.  "Our  adversary  the  devil,  as  a  roaring 
lion,  goeth  about  seeking  whom  he  may  devour."  Him 
w^e  are  to  "resist,  steadfast  in  the  faith."  This  spe- 
cies of  enmity  is  all  the  more  terrific  because  it  is  in- 
visible, because  it  does  not  address  itself  to  our  senses, 
and  is  indicated  by  no  outward  manifestations,  and 
they  who  walk  by  sight  alone,  discredit  it  altogether  as 
unreal  and  visionary,  and  ridicule  our  fears  of  it  as 
groundless  and  superstitious.  Its  vagueness  and  un- 
certainty, and  the  limited  extent  of  our  acquaintance 
with  its  modes  of  approach  and  operation,  may  well 
serve  to  augment  our  apprehension,  and  deepen  our 
solicitude.  "The  prince  of  the  power  of  the  air," 
coming  to  us  we  know  not  how  nor  when,  we  should 
ever  be  watching  against,  ready  to  engage.  He  walks 
with  us  as  often  in  life's  flowery  paths,  as  in  its  darker 
and  more  forbidding  ways. 

Life  then  is  all  work,  for  we  have  ever  something 
to  do,  to  fulfil  its  end  and  secure  its  reward,  something 


THE  WORK  AND  WARFARE  OF  LIFE.  103 

not  pleasurable  in  itself  nor  immediately  profitable ; 
and  this  work  is  all  warfare,  for  it  has  to  be  done  in 
the  face  of  opposition  inward  and  outward,  with  man- 
ful resolution  and  determined  energy,  in  strenuous 
battle  with  ourselves  and  men  and  spirits,  with  the 
world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil.  With  one  hand  we 
must  labour  in  the  work  of  our  calling,  and  with  the 
other  wield  the  weapons  of  our  warfare. 

My  dear  brethren,  shall  we  shrink  then  ?  Shall  we 
be  listless,  and  faint-hearted  and  indolent?  Look  at 
the  men  of  the  world.  How  ardent,  how  steadfast, 
how  energetic,  how  persevering,  they  are !  Shall  we 
be  less  so?  "They  do  it  to  obtain  a  corruptible 
crown;  we  an  incorruptible."  Soon  this  scene  of 
conflict  will  fade  from  our  eyes.  Soon  our  toil  will 
end  in  rest,  our  fight  in  victory.  That  rest  is  glo- 
rious, that  victory  eternal  and  complete.  Jesus,  "  the 
Captain  of  our  salvation,"  hath  laboured  and  fought, 
and  "set  down  on  the  right  hand  of  God."  And  now 
to  our  weary  and  fainting  heart  he  speaks  from  that 
seat  of  glory  intones  of  majesty  and  tenderness — "To 
him  that  overcometh  will  I  grant  to  sit  with  me  on  my 
throne,  even  as  I  have  overcome,  and  am  set  down 
with  my  Father  on  his  throne."  Who  will  decline  the 
work?     Who  will  despair  of  the  victory? 


104  SERMON  IX. 


SEEMON  IX. 

THE   WORD  AND   THE   DREAM. 

The  prophet  that  hath  a  dream,  let  him  tell  a  dream,  and  he  that  hath 
my  word,  let  him  speak  my  word  faithfully.  What  is  the  chaff 
to  the  wheat  ?  saith  the  Lord.  Is  not  my  word  like  as  a  fire  ? 
saith  the  Lord;  and  like  a  hammer  that  breaketh  the  rock  in 
pieces? — Jeremiah  xxiii.  28,  29. 

The  prophet  here  exhibits  in  contrast  divine  teach- 
ing and  the  speculations  of  men.  The  former  he  calls 
the  word  of  the  Lord.  The  latter  he  calls  but  dreams, 
the  visionary  offspring  of  the  human  mind,  and  par- 
taking of  the  weakness  and  fallibility  of  the  source 
whence  they  spring.  "  The  things  of  God  knoweth 
no  man,"  save  as  he  is  "taught  of  God;"  and  there- 
fore, the  moment  we  leave  the  ground  of  revelation  in 
our  teaching,  we  lose  all  claim  to  implicit  confidence 
and  respect;  all  is  inference,  surmise  and  theory, 
partakes  of  the  feebleness  of  reason  and  the  wildness 
of  fancy,  should  be  uttered  with  modesty  and  self-dis- 
trust, and  received  with  caution  and  reserve.  Yet 
such  speculation  is  not  utterly  unlawful  or  pernicious. 
"  The  prophet  that  hath  a  dream,  let  him  tell  a  dream." 
Human  minds  must  think.  They  will  clothe  truth  in 
forms  and  guises  of  their  own.  They  will  classify, 
arrange,  systematize.  It  helps  memory  and  clearness 
of  conception.  Yet  all  such  speculation  needs  to  be 
under  the  restraint  of  a  godly  fear,  of  a  solemn  sense 
of  responsibility,  to  be  sober,  guided  by  a  constant  re- 


THE  WORD  AND  THE  DREAM.        105 

ference  to  Holy  Scripture,  carefully  restrained  from 
wanderino;  into  the  dansierous  reo;ions  of  mere  inven- 
tion,  and  guarded  against  the  spirit  of  dogmatism  and 
dictation.  The  prophet  very  beautifully  and  aptly 
likens  divine  truth  and  human  thoughts  about  it  to  the 
wheat  and  chaff.  "What  is  the  chaff  to  the  wheat?" 
comparatively,  nothing.  And  yet  the  chaff  is  not 
without  an  humble  species  and  degree  of  utility.  To 
the  growing  wheat  it  answers  the  purpose  of  ornament, 
protection  and  conservation.  Separated  from  the 
ripened  grain  it  is  indeed  worthless.  In  the  grain 
alone,  is  nutrition  and  abiding  value.  Let  then,  hu- 
man thinking  always  be  kept  in  that  subordinate 
place  which  alone  befits  it.  The  moment  the  dream 
of  man  and  the  oracle  of  God  are  put  on  a  footing  of 
equality,  and  the  distinction  that  separates  them  is 
forgotten,  mischief  ensues;  the  teacher  promulgates 
error,  his  teaching  degenerates  into  "vain  babbling;" 
and  "the  lips  that  should  keep  knowledge,"  "cause 
the  people"  that  seek  at  them  the  law  of  the  Lord 
"to  err  through  their  lies  and  their  lightness."  "The 
prophet  that  hath  a  dream  let  him  tell  a  dream,"  and 
tell  it  as  a  dream,  as  a  shape  in  which  divine  truth  has 
clothed  itself  in  his  own  mind  by  the  processes  of  re- 
flection and  meditation,  or  which  has  been  put  upon  it 
by  the  consenting  judgment  of  conscientious,  learned 
and  judicious  men,  but  not  as  certainly  that  very  truth 
of  God  which  lies  hidden  in  the  letter  of  the  Sacred 
Word.  In  that  pure  word  alone  divine  energy  and 
efficiency  reside.  That  is  the  fire  whose  searching 
heat  few  things  can  abide  unchanged,  the  hammer 
10 


106  SERMON  IX. 

that  breaketh  the  rock  in  pieces,  that  alone  can  effec- 
tually subdue  the  hardness  of  the  human  heart,  and  con- 
quer the  stubbornness  of  the  human  will. 

Scriptural  truth,  then,  in  opposition  to  any  specula- 
tions of  man,  is  here  represented  as  the  instrument  of 
the  teacher's  saving  work,  the  appointed  nutriment 
of  the  soul,  and  the  powerful  means  of  softening  and 
subduing  our  refractory  nature. 

But  what  is  Scriptural  truth?  And  how  is  it  to  be 
ascertained  and  distinguished?  It  is  evident  from  the 
text  that  it  has  a  rival,  which  seeks  to  usurp  its  office 
and  its  honours,  to  be  received  as  its  equivalent,  in- 
stead of  it  or  along  with  it  as  an  effective  teacher  of 
men  in  the  will  of  God  and  the  way  of  salvation; 
while  yet  such  speculation  is,  we  have  seen,  inevitable, 
and  not  to  be  wholly  and  indiscriminately  condemned. 

One  step  in  the  process  of  obtaining  Scriptural  truth 
from  Scripture  is  interpretation.  Scriptural  truth  is 
not  the  letter  of  the  word,  but  its  meaning,  the  mind  of 
God  conveyed  to  men  under  its  various  forms  and  de- 
lineations. The  mind  of  God  contained  in  Scripture, 
ascertained,  extricated  and  stated,  is  Scriptural  truth. 
Truth  lies  in  the  Scriptures  as  the  ore  lies  in  the  mine, 
mingled  with  foreign  substances,  disguised  by  various 
combinations.  Not  till  it  is  elicited,  disengaged  and 
presented  in  its  simple,  unmixed  condition,  is  it  moral 
and  spiritual  truth,  an  infallible  lesson  of  doctrine  and 
duty  to  men.  Let  me  illustrate.  The  truth  in  a  di- 
vine history,  is  the  information  it  affords  concerning 
the  mind  of  God  in  reference  to  human  conduct — the 


THE  won©  AMD  THE  DREAM.         107 

doctrine  it  exemplifies  and  iliustrates.  The  trutli  in 
a  parable,  is  its  moral,  the  lesson  it  conveys,  the  belief 
or  practice  it  is  intended  to  inculcate.  A  message 
from  God  designed  for  a  particular  case  or  occasion, 
has  its  permanent  value  in  the  general  and  abiding 
principle  which  it  implies  and  intimates.  That  prin- 
ciple is  its  contribution  to  the  sum  of  scriptural  truth. 
God  acts  not  by  caprice,  but  by  immutable  rules.  By 
scanning  his  acts  in  particular  instances  we  discover 
these  rules  and  learn  to  apply  them,  we  see  what 
courses  and  dispositions  will  ordinarily  secure  his  ap- 
probation, what  will  ordinarily  incur  his  displeasure. 
Of  such  materials  Scripture  is  made  up.  The  pro- 
cess of  interpretation  is  needed  to  free  the  truth  it 
contains  from  its  various  confinements  and  disguises. 
Another  step  in  the  process  of  obtaining  scriptural 
truth  from  Scripture  is  to  systematize,  arrange  and 
combine  the  results  of  interpretation.  Truth  comes 
from  the  mine  in  fragments.  It  is  gathered  here  a 
little  and  there  a  little.  In  order  to  be  a  consistent 
whole,  it  must  be  reduced  to  a  system,  the  various  frag- 
ments must  be  melted  into  a  uniform  and  symmetrical 
mass.  The  truth  is  a  congeries  of  truths,  not  heaped 
irregularly  and  promiscuously  together,  but  disposed 
in  an  orderly  and  harmonious  arrangement.  Trutli 
must  be  adjusted  to  truth,  so  that  they  may  be  parts 
of  a  coherent  whole,  and  not  a  confused  aggregation 
of  unrelated  particles.  Truth  is  a  unit  by  a  law,  and 
not  by  accident,  a  crystallization  and  not  a  fortui- 
tous assemblage.  The  announcement  of  a  particular 
Scripture  is  not  independent  of  all  other  announce- 


108  SERMON  IX. 

ments  but  related  to  them  all,  is  not  perfect  in  itself, 
but  a  part  of  a  perfection,  and  is  not  exactly  known, 
except  as  it  is  seen  in  the  light  of  the  whole  testi- 
mony of  concurrent  teaching.  One  truth  limits  and 
modifies  another.  A  separate  truth  viewed  without 
reference  to  other  truths  grows  immediately  dispro- 
portionate and  corrupt.  Hence  the  necessity  of  "  com- 
paring spiritual  things  with  spiritual,"  ''prophesy- 
ing according  to  the  proportion,"  that  is,  the  analogy, 
"of  the  faith,"  "rightly  dividing  the  word  of  truth." 

Let  us  next  attend  to  the  action  of  the  human  mind  on 
the  truth  thus  ascertained.  The  mind  will  not  receive 
truth  passively.  It  will  be  active  upon  it.  It  will  think. 
It  will  speculate.  For  instance,  it  is  taught  redemption, 
viz.,  that  by  the  sufiering  and  death  of  Christ,  man  is 
relieved  from  the  wrath  of  God  and  the  punishment 
legally  due  to  transgressors  on  condition  of  becoming 
penitent  and  believing.  This  is  divine  teaching,  the  as- 
certained sense  of  Scripture,  and  as  such  the  mind 
receives  it.  But  the  mind  will  not  rest  there.  It  will 
raise  the  question,  how  the  death  of  Christ  effects  the 
forgiveness  of  sin,  how  it  operates  to  make  it  safe  and 
proper  and  right  for  God  to  pardon  repentant  and  con- 
fiding sinners.  It  will  have  theories  of  redemption, 
and  it  may  have  different  theories  innocently,  provided 
it  leaves  the  truth  in  its  integrity;  and  any  man 
may  tell  his  theory,  his  dream,  if  he  do  but  tell  it  as  a 
theory,  and  not  put  it  on  a  level  with  the  truth  which  it 
attempts  to  explain.  The  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  is 
a  theory.  It  is  not  summarily  and  explicitly  taught 
in  Scripture,  but  it  is  a  logical  deduction  from  things 


THE  WORD  AND  THE  DREAM.         109 

that  are  taught  in  it.  That  there  is  one  God,  that  the 
Father  is*  personally  distinct  from  the  Son  and  the 
Holy  Ghost,  that  the  Son  is  divine,  and  the  Spirit  a 
divine  person,  are  separate  propositions  which  are 
j»iainly  and  unequivocally  taught.  And  if  any  man  will 
receive  these  particular  statements,  but  is  afraid  of  the 
name,  or  the  general  formula,  we  must  not  call  him  a 
heretic,  but  only  a  clumsy  reasoner.  So  about  grace, 
its  action  on  the  soul  of  man,  its  adaptation  to  our  own 
voluntary  agency,  we  speculate,  and  we  speculate 
safely,  so  long  as  we  do  not  deny,  on  the  one  hand, 
•  that  man  is  free  to  choose  good  or  evil,  and,  on  the 
other,,  that  it  is  God  that  worketh  in  him  to  will  and  to 
do  of  liis  good  pleasure ;  for  these  things  are  taught  in 
Scripture. 

There  are  Scripture  hints,  again,  which  we  cannot 
refrain  from  attempting  to  expand  and  fill  out,  to 
give  them  form  and  fulness  by  conjectures  and  suppo- 
sitions of  our  own ;  as,  for  instance,  a  spiritual  state  of 
being  and  a  future  life  we  seek  to  clothe  with  substance 
and  reality  by  imagining  what  they  are,  what  are 
the  conditions  of  such  states  of  existence,  what  are 
their  sources  of  enjoyment,  what  their  modes  and 
occasions  of  action;  and  we  seize  upon  analogies  and 
symptoms,  if  we  can  find  any,  to  help  our  conceptions. 
So  to  deduce  truth  from  Scripture,  harmonize  it,  and 
fill  it  out  is  human,  but  it  is  needful,  salutary,  legiti- 
mate,— there  can  be  no  clear  thinking,  no  effective 
teaching,  without  it.  But  the  teacher  must  always  be 
careful  to  distinguish  between  the  explicit  announce- 
ments of  God's  word,  which  are  infallible  because  di- 

10* 


110  SERMON  IX. 

vine,  and  those  thoughts  of  man  about  them,  which 
are  valuable  only  in  proportion  to  the  soundness  of  the 
argument  and  evidence  by  which  they  are  sustained. 
"  The  prophet  that  hath  a  dream  let  him  tell  a  dream, 
and  he  that  hath  my  word  let  him  speak  my  word 
faithfully."  But  when  speculation  leaves  these  bounds, 
and  presumes  to  act  independently  of  divine  teaching, 
to  originate  doctrines  unknown  to  the  Bible,  in  accord- 
ance with  its  own  philosophies,  schemes  of  human 
nature,  or  notions  of  moral  truth,  and  in  order  to  sus- 
tain them  disparages  Scripture,  or  wrests  it  from  that 
sense  which  it  naturally  bears  and  the  common  judg- 
ment of  the  Church  has  fixed  upon  it,  to  support  some 
foregone  opinion — when  the  object  is  not  honestly  to 
seek  the  meaning  of  Scripture  and  build  on  that  alone 
a  system  of  belief  and  practice,  but  to  force  doctrines, 
derived  from  a  totally  foreign  source  upon  the  Scrip- 
tures, in  order  to  gain  for  them  the  credit  of  a  venera- 
ble name,  and  clothe  them  with  the  sanctity  of  an 
apparent  respect  for  Christianity,  such  dreaming  is 
utterly  unlawful  and  pernicious,  "the  blind  do  but 
lead  the  blind,"  and  "both  shall  fall  into  the  ditch." 
"  To  the  law  and  to  the  testimony ;  if  they  speak  not 
according  to  this  word,  there  is  no  light  in  them." 

But  there  is  a  question  lower  down  than  all  we  have 
yet  said — How  shall  we  extract  Scriptural  truth  from 
Scripture, — how  shall  we  derive  the  meaning  from  the 
letter  of  the  AYord?  Attention  to  these  rules  will,  it 
is  believed,  seldom  fail  to  secure  success. 

1st.  The  natural  and  apparent  meaning  is  ordinarily 
the  true  one.     We  are  not  to  be  seeking  recondite 


THE  WORD  AND  THE  DREAM.      .   HI 

meanings  in  the  Word  of  God.  To  do  so  is  to  forget 
its  design.  The  Bible  is  God  teaching  men  by  human 
speech.  To  do  this  effectually  it  conforms  to  the  laws 
of  human  speech.  It  speaks  intelligibly.  It  employs 
the  terms  and  forms  of  language  in  their  ordinary  ac- 
ceptation. It  is  the  book  of  men  at  large,  and  not  of 
a  learned  class,  of  scholars  and  men  of  peculiar  pene- 
tration and  reach  of  thought.  It  is  popular  teaching 
clothed  in  popular  phraseology,  and  not  in  the  techni- 
cal language  of  scientific  theology.  When  our  Sa- 
viour was  upon  earth,  "  the  common  people  heard  him 
gladly; "  and  still  they  may  hear  him  gladly  speaking 
to  them  in  his  word,  without  fear  of  his  "  darkening 
counsel:"  by  any  intentional  obscurity  or  ambiguity 
of  speech.  There  are  few  more  useful  or  safer  rules 
for  coming  at  the  meaning  of  Scripture  than  this  sim- 
ple one, — The  Bible  means  what  it  seems  to  mean. 

2d.  That  meaning  of  any  particular  passage  of 
Scripture  is  the  true  one,  which  harmonizes  with  the 
general  strain  of  its  teaching.  Yfe  are  not  to  build 
doctrines  on  isolated  texts,  if  there  are  other  texts, 
which,  fairly  considered,  operate  to  modify  and  limit 
their  sense.  We  cannot  know  the  meaning  of  any 
Scripture  without  a  general  acquaintance  with  Scrip- 
ture. It  is  common  justice  to  suppose  an  author  con- 
sistent with  himself.  God  is  the  Author  of  the  Bible, 
however  many  and  various  the  human  instruments  he 
has  employed  in  its  composition.  God  must  be  con- 
sistent with  himself.  What  he  says  in  one  place  can- 
not contradict  what  he  says  in  another.  And  the 
true  'sense  in  either  must  be  that  which  gives  a  con- 


112      ,  SERMON  IX. 

sistent  sense  in  both.  Take  an  example.  St.  Paul 
calls  our  Saviour,  "  the  Man  Christ  Jesus."  If  this 
were  all,  we  might  understand  him  as  asserting  Jesus 
Christ  to  be  mere  maji.  But  in  view  of  what  is  said 
elsewhere,  we  know  that  he  simply  affirms  Jesus  Christ 
to  be  human,  a  true  man,  and  to  possess  by  voluntary 
assumption  a  humanity  that  is  real,  actual  and  com- 
plete.    It  is  the  doctrine  of  the  incarnation. 

3d.  The  ancient  meaning  is  to  be  preferred  to  any 
that  is  more  modern.  In  other  words.  Scripture  is  to 
be  interpreted  in  accordance  with  "that  form  of  doc- 
trine which  was  delivered"  to  the  Church  at  the  be- 
ginning, "the  faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints." 
We  are  to  "hold  fast  the  form  of  sound  words,"  in 
which  the  doctrines  of  the  Gospel  were  embodied  by 
those  "who  from  the  beginning  were  ?ye-witnesses  and 
ministers  of  the  "Word."  Truth,  like  its  Author,  is 
"the  same  yesterday  and  to-day  and  forever;"  "as  it 
was  in  the  beginning,  it  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be, 
world  without  end."  There  are  no  such  things  as  dis- 
coveries in  Christianity.  It  is  not  an  improvable  sys- 
tem. It  has  no  such  thing  as  growth.  Development 
is  the  refuge  of  the  Romanist,  who  would  sanctify  the 
accumulated  rubbish  of  ages  of  darkness,  or  of  the 
rationalist,  who  seeks  liberty  to  mould  Christianity 
into  a  conformity  with  his  wishes.  Christianity  came 
from  the  hands  of  its  Author  perfect  and  unalterable. 
No  doctrine  that  was  unknown  in  early  ages  is  any 
part  of  it.  We  are  to  remember  that  the  Gospel  was 
taught  before  it  was  written,  that  a  definite  system  of 
belief  and  practice  was  established  before  the  Christian 


THE  WORD  AND  THE  DREAM.         113 

Scriptures  were  composed.  And  the  Scriptures  do  but 
echo  and  republish  this,  and  with  this  system  in  our 
minds,  handed  down  from  the  beginning  in  the  Church, 
we  are  to  read  them.  The  meanings  that  conform  to  it 
we  are  to  embrace,  the  meanings  that  contradict  it  we 
are  to  reject.  Neglect  of  this  rule  has  been  the  fruitful 
source  of  heresies,  the  evil  root  whence  have  sprung 
the  innumerable  errors  which  infest,  deform  and  agi- 
tate the  family  of  Christ.  A  return  to  it  will  be  the 
signal  of  unity  and  reconciliation. 

Finally,  the  text  ascribes  to  Scriptural  truth,  and 
to  that  alone,  a  divine  energy  and  efficiency  in  the 
work  of  teaching.  The  wheat — it  nourishes  souls ;  the 
fire — it  softens  human  obduracy ;  the  hammer — it  breaks 
down  and  subdues  human  opposition.  Philosophical 
theories,  moral  schemes,  flights  of  eloquence,  beauties 
of  style,  "play  round  the  head,  but  come  not  near  the 
heart."  Truth  sanctifies  men,  truth  makes  men  free. 
*'The  weapons  of  our  warfare  are  mighty  through 
God  to  the  pulling  down  of  strong  holds,  casting  down 
imaginations,  and  every  thing  that  exalteth  itself 
against  the  knowledge  of  God,  and  bringing  every 
thought  into  captivity  to  the  obedience  of  Christ." 
The  truths  of  the  Gospel  are  these  weapons,  presented 
in  their  simplicity,  integrity  and  proportion.  These 
make  men  new  creatures ;  these  "  turn  the  hearts  of 
the  disobedient  to  the  wisdom  of  the  just; "  these  "  give 
subtilty  to  the  simple,"  and  make  the  ignorant  "wise 
unto  salvation."  Whence  this  efficacy?  this  supe- 
riority to  all  other  teaching?  Simply  here — they  are 
divine — God  uses  them — God  will  use  nothing  else. 


114  SERMON  IX. 

No  instrument  in  man's  hands  is  competent  to  save 
men.  "Ye  are  God's  husbandry,  ye  are  God's  build- 
ing." We  work  successfully  only  when  God  works 
with  us  and  by  us.  And  this  he  does  only  when  we 
conscientiously  adhere  to  our  instructions,  and  confine 
ourselves  to  the  instruments  which  he  has  put  into  our 
hands.  To  this  his  grace  is  pledged,  to  this  his  pro- 
mises are  given.  With  such  aid  "the  feeble  shall  be 
as  David,"  and  "the  foolish  things  of  the  world  con- 
found the  wise."  For  thus  saith  the  Lord:  "As  the 
rain  cometh  down,  and  the  snow  from  heaven,  and  re- 
turneth  not  thither,  but  watereth  the  earth,  and  maketh 
it  bring  forth  and  bud,  that  it  may  give  seed  to  the 
sower,  and  bread  to  the  eater;  so  shall  my  word  be, 
that  goeth  forth  out  of  my  mouth ;  it  shall  not  return 
unto  me  void,  but  it  shall  accomplish  that  which  I 
please,  and  it  shall  prosper  in  the  thing  whereto  I 
sent  it." 

You  are  then,  my  dear  brethren,  to  expect  no  no- 
velties from  us.  Our  commission  is  definite  and  con- 
fined within  narrow  limits.  "We  dare  not  go  beyond 
the  word  of  the  Lord  to  do  less  or  more  of  our  own 
mind."  Our  business  is  simply  to  speak  the  word  of 
God  faithfully.  Here  only  have  we  a  divine  warranty. 
Here  only  have  we  prospect  of  success.  To  souls  that 
have  long  refused  to  be  fed  with  it,  we  have  only  still 
to  hold  forth  the  bread  of  life.  To  soften  the  hard 
he*irt,  we  can  but  rekindle  the  fire  that  has  burnt  in 
vain.  To  subdue  the  stubborn  will,  we  can  but  let 
fall  the  hammer  that  has  not  broken  it  as  yet.  We 
dare  not  try  any  new  doctrine,  or  experiment  on  any 


THE  WORD  AND  THE  DREAM.  115 

new  species  of  teaching.  We  are  tied  up  to  this  one 
work  of  "speaking  the  same  things  unto  you,"  because 
"to  you  it  is  safe,"  and  nothing  else  is  safe.  We 
might  tell  our  dreams  to  you,  novelties  of  our  own 
invention,  airy  notions  conceived  in  the  caverns  of  hu- 
man thought.  We  should  amuse  you,  we  should  gain 
your  attention,  we  should  keep  you  awake.  But  we 
should  neither  save  ourselves  nor  those  who  hear  us. 
Souls  may  be  amused  with  chaff,  but  they  will  not  live 
upon  it.  "The  sincere  milk  of  the  word"  is  that 
on  which  alone  they  will  grow  and  thrive.  We  teach 
you  theories,  systems,  conjectures;  but  we  mean  that 
they  shall  be  sober,  based  upon  and  limited  by  the 
teaching  of  the  word.  The  instructions  of  a  pastor  in 
a  lengthened  course  of  years  are  necessarily  repeti- 
tions and  monotonous,  and  are  without  the  interest 
of  novelty  and  freshness.  The  word  limits  his  sub- 
jects, the  constitution  of  his  jnind  his  faculty  of  pre- 
senting them.  My  voice  to  you  is  an  old  and  familiar 
sound,  and  it  utters  now  but  an  oft-told  and  thread- 
bare tale.  Still  it  is  God's  truth,  and  it  is  ours  to 
sp«ak  it  faithfully.  It  can  do  you  good.  It  must  do 
you  good,  or  nothing  will.  It  will  do  you  good,  or  you 
are  lost.  In  the  name  of  our  God,  again  then,  we  set 
up  our  banners.  "  Some  trust  in  chariots,  and  some  in 
horses,  but  we  will  remember  the  name  of  the  Lord 
our  God." 


116  SERMON  X. 


SERMON  X. 

MAN,    GREAT   IN    HIS    LITTLENESS. 

Am  I  a  sea,  or  a  wliale,  that  tliou  settest  a  watcli  oyer  me  ? — Job 
YII.  12. 

This  is  an  expression  of  wonder,  petulance  and  ex- 
postulation, at  the  strangeness  of  God's  dealings.  They 
seemed  to  Job  unsuitable  and  disproportionate.  View- 
ing himself  as  the  object  of  them,  he  was  amazed  and 
disaffected  at  their  character  and  scale.  He  was 
smitten  with  a  convenient  modesty;  thought  himself 
made  of  too  much  consequence  by  the  severity  and 
continuance  of  his  troubles ;  and  pleaded  for  a  respite 
on  the  ground  of  his  feebleness  and  insignificancy. 
He  deemed  such  an  exertion  of  force,  such  a  stretch  of 
observation,  such  an  expense  of  care  and  agency, 
unmeet,  and  wasted  on  so  inconsiderable  and  impotent 
an  object.  Men  are  not  apt  to  think  God  too  lavish 
of  his  favours,  or  excessive  in  his  plans  and  pains  to 
promote  their  happiness,  when  he  visits  them  with 
smiles  and  blessings.  They  feel  no  disposition  to  con- 
trast their  littleness  with  the  magnitude  of  his  mer- 
cies, and  are  seldom  led  to  wonder  at,  much  less  to 
protest  against,  the  profusion  of  his  bounties  and  the 
liberality  of  his  purposes  and  thoughts  of  love.  But 
as  soon  as  he  frowns  and  chastens,  they  are  quickly 
struck  with  a  sense  of  fitness  and  proportion,  and  filled 


I 


MAN,  GREAT  IN  HIS  LITTLENESS.  117 

■with  wonder  and  complaining  at  such  an  expenditure 
of  attention  and  power  upon  so  weak  and  unimpor- 
tant a  creature.  Job  clothed  such  a  thought  as  this 
in  the  language  of  my  text:  "Am  I  a  sea  or  a 
whale,  that  thou  settest  a  watch  over  me?"  Am  I  a 
turbulent  and  mighty  thing,  powerful  and  mischievous, 
like  the  deep  or  the  huge  monsters  that  make  it  their 
home,  that  thou  makest  me  an  object  of  perpetual  ob- 
servation and  restraint?  "The  waves  of  the  sea  are 
mighty  and  rage  horribly ;"  and  "  Leviathan  whom  thou 
makest  to  take  pastime  therein  "  is  strong  and  terrible. 
But  what  is  man,  impotent  and  ineffective,  that  thou 
pliest  him  with  such  ceaseless  watchfulness  and  cor- 
rections! Surely,  it  is  unnecessary  and  unbecoming 
condescension  in  thee,  to  stoop,  at  such  an  expense  of 
care  and  effort,  to  repress  his  designs  and  chastise  his 
faults.  Contempt  and  derision  are  alone  suited  to  the 
case  of  such  a  puny  creature.  Let  him  do  his  worst ; 
what  can  he  do  which  is  worthy  of  thy  notice  or  inter- 
position? His  greatest  mischiefs  are  below  thy  regard. 
His  littleness  ought  to  be  his  defence.  It  becomes 
thee  only  to  let  him  alone  in  contempt  or  exterminate 
him  at  once  with  a  word,  not  to  throw  away  upon  him 
so  much  solicitude  and  exertion. 

Man  is  treated  by  God  as  though  he  were  a  thing 
of  magnitude,  consequence,  might  and  value.  The 
providence  of  God  magnifies  man,  proves  him  to  be  an 
object  of  wonderful  interest,  concern  and  solicitude 
to  his  Maker.  Herein  is  a  mystery.  Why  am  I  thus  ? 
Thou  treatest  me  as  though  I  were  of  great  value  and 
of  great  strength.  Why  ? 
11 


118  SERMON  X. 

"Am  I  a  sea,  or  a  whale,  that  thou  settest  a  watch 
over  me?"  Is  there  aught  magnificent  or  precious 
in  this  poor,  frail,  brief  atom  of  animated  dust,  to  occu- 
py the  attention  and  employ  the  vigilance  of  the  great 
God?  *' My  goodness  extendeth  not  to  thee;"  and 
my  wickedness  cannot  reach  thee :  the  utmost  harm  I 
can  do  myself  or  another  is  a  trifle  beneath  thy  no- 
tice. What  is  there  in  me  to  warrant  the  incessant 
care  and  constant  effort,  the  array  of  means  and 
diversity  of  operations,  thou  puttest  forth  to  produce 
and  cherish  in  me  the  one,  and  to  repress  and  correct 
in  me  the  other?  Why  squanderest  thou  thy  thought 
and  strength  on  so  worthless  a  thing?  "What  is  man 
that  thou  shouldest  magnify  him?  and  that  thou 
shouldest  set  thine  heart  upon  him?  and  that  thou 
shouldest  visit  him  every  morning,  and  try  him  every 
moment?  How  long  wilt  thou  not  depart  from  me, 
and  let  me  alone  till  I  swallow  down  my  spittle?" 
"When  I  consider  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fin- 
gers, the  moon  and  the  stars  which  thou  hast  ordained ; 
what  is  man,  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him,  and  the 
son  of  man,  that  thou  visitest  him!" 

Yet  sure  it  is:  I  am  treated  by  my  Maker  as  a 
thing  of  value.  Wherein  does  that  value  consist?  I 
look  around  amongst  his  works,  and  observe  their  mul- 
tiplicity, dimensions,  durability,  splendour,  and  power. 
I  compare  myself  with  them,  and  am  filled  with  a  feeling 
of  abasement,  a  sense  of  insignifieancy.  And  yet  none 
of  his  stupendous  and  potent  creatures  has  cost  him,  and 
yet  does  cost  him  so  much,  as  poor,  feeble,  short-lived 
I,  who,  if  blotted  out  of  his  creation,  would  make  a 


MAN,  GREAT  IN  HIS   LITTLENESS.  119 

void  too  small  to  be  felt  or  seen.  Besides,  all  else  is 
orderly,  submissive,  regular,  obedient  to  the  law,  and 
true  to  the  end,  of  its  being.  The  sun  and  moon,  the 
planets  in  their  orbits,  "  the  world  and  the  fulness 
thereof,"  acquiesce  in  his  authority  and  fulfil  his  com- 
mands. But  I  am  a  "wandering  star,"  rebellious, 
unruly,  eccentric,  perverse.  I  only,  of  all  that  I  be- 
hold, am  in  a  state  of  revolt  and  insubordination, 
setting  at  naught  my  Maker's  will  and  defying  his 
power,  refusing  to  fill  the  place  and  do  the  work  his 
wisdom  has  assigned  me.  Surely,  this  puny  rebel  will 
be  wiped  out  as  an  offence,  and  a  stain  on  the  fair 
beauty  of  his  works.  But  no :  it  seems  as  though  my 
unworthiness  were  seized  upon  to  evidence  more  stri- 
kingly the  high  regard  and  value  he  places  upon  me. 
Vile  as  well  as  paltry,  I  am  treated  with  a  wonderful 
respect,  delicacy  and  forbearance, — made  much  of,  as 
though  my  preservation  and  recovery  were  a  thing 
very  near  the  heart,  very  important  in  the  eyes,  of 
God.  Nay,  I  am  told  that  the  huge  ball  I  dwell  upon 
is  kept  and  furnished  expressly  for  my  residence  and 
comfort,  and  all  its  rich  furniture  and  countless  popu- 
lation are  my  utensils  and  servants;  that  the  great 
earth,  whose  trifling  inequalities  seem  to  me  stupen- 
dous heights  and  depths,  and  over  a  few  inches  of 
whose  surface  I  crawl  as  an  insect  over  its  sand-heap, 
was,  is,  and  lasts  for  my  use  and  pleasure ;  that  I  am 
"redeemed  not  with  silver  and  gold,  but  with  the  pre- 
cious blood  of  Christ,"  who,  "in  the  beginning  was 
with  God  and  was  God,"  and  yet, — now  that  he  is 
ascended  up  on  high  again — "is  not  ashamed  to  call 


120  SERMON  X. 

me  Ibrother;"  tliat  I  am  c|uickened  to  a  new  moral  life 
and  capacity  for  holiness  by  a  perpetual  efflux  of 
divine  influence;  that  the  afiairs  of  this  -world  are  all 
ordered  and  managed  for  my  benefit  and  improvement ; 
and  that  all  the  events  that  transpire  upon  its  surface 
are  but  exertions  of  God's  watchfulness  and  anxiety 
to  make  me  what  I  should  be, — good  and  happy,  ac- 
cording to  the  intent  of  my  creation.  I  look  within 
this  small,  mean,  corruptible  body,  and  I  find  some- 
thing, not  of  it,  that  thinks,  wills  and  loves,  and  of 
which  I  feel  an  irrepressible  conviction,  that  it  will 
think,  will  and  love  forever, — a  foresight,  between  fear 
and  hope,  in  view  of  what  it  now  thinks,  wills  and  loves, 
of  its  immortality  and  eternal  consciousness  and  ac- 
tivity. This,  I  surmise,  is  w^hat  God  prizes — the  spiri- 
tual and  im.mortal,  the  image  of  himself,  more  godlike, 
and  intrinsically  of  more  worth,  than  hugest  masses  of 
inert  matter,  or  highest  measures  of  brute  strength,  or 
any  stamp  or  degree  of  mere  irrational  and  transient 
animation.  "  Thou  madest  him  a  little  lower  than 
the  angels,  to  crown  him  with  glory  and  honour." 
The  human  soul, — its  similitude  to  God,  its  exquisite 
excellence  of  substance ;  its  extent  and  variety  of  fa- 
culties ;  its  infinite  improvability ;  its  capacity  to  know, 
appreciate,  and  judge  itself;  its  ability  to  apprehend 
God,  love,  enjoy,  adore  him,  and  render  to  him  a 
rational  and  voluntary  tribute  of  honour  and  service ; 
its  absolute  deathlessness,  independence  of  matter, 
survivance  of  the  frame  and  world  it  dwells  in,  coe- 
ternity  with  God  and  destination  to  everlasting  con- 
sciousness,  activity  and    progress;   its  probationary 


121 

state,  responsibility,  sensibility  to  its  own  character 
and  circumstances,  memory,  conscience,  and  fore- 
sight, involving  a  tremendous  capability  of  enjoyment 
and  of  misery;  and  its  actual,  certain,  speedy,  immu- 
table assignment  to  the  "  damnation  of  hell,"  or  to  *'an 
eternal  and  exceeding  weight  of  glory" — vest  it  with 
an  unspeakable  dignity  and  preciousness,  and  its  con- 
dition, fraught  with  such  issues,  with  an  indescribable 
solemnity  and  impressiveness.  No  w^onder,  then,  that  He, 
who  has  made  it  such,  and  placed  it  thus,  so  rich,  so  akin 
to  himself,  so  awfully  exposed,  should  deem  it  worthy  his 
attention,  watch  it  with  a  parent's  solicitude,  and  consult 
with  constant  and  anxious  scheming  for  its  welfare  and 
salvation.  The  spiritual  ranks  before  the  physical,  the 
rational  before  the  animal,  the  eternal  before  the  mor- 
tal ;  and  though  the  lodge  wherein  it  has  taken  up  its 
temporary  abode  be  small,  weak  and  perishable,  inferior 
in  size  and  strength  to  structures  around  it,  which  stand 
tenantless,  or  occupied  by  humbler  tenants,  the  Lord, 
who  "looketh  not  on  the  outward  appearance,"  knows 
the  value  and  rareness  of  the  jewel,  and  cares  for  it 
w^th  a  regard  proportioned  to  its  worth.  "Am  I  a 
sea  or  a  whale,  that  thou  settest  a  watch  over  me?" 
Nay;  but  I  am  more.  The  sea,  in  its  vast  expansion, 
the  hid  treasure  of  its  "dark  unfathomed  caves,"  its 
resistless  violence,  destructive  rage,  and  hungry  rapa- 
ciousness,  sweeping  us,  our  treasures,  and  our  works  away 
as  things  of  naught,  is  yet  a  poor,  inert,  passive  thing, 
that  knoweth  not  its  Maker  and  Master,  that  moveth 
and  acteth  only  as  he  rolleth  it  "in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand,"  that  cannot  choose  but  do  as  he  biddeth  it,  and 

11* 


122  SERMON  X. 

knoweth  not  its  own  power  and  obedience,  and  is  soon 
to  be  dried  up  and  pass  away  in  the  "  fervent  heat"  of 
the  world's  last  day.  But  I  know  and  observe  and  fear 
thee ;  and  if  I  will,  may  glorify  and  obey  and  enjoy  thee 
forever,  and  be  near  thee  and  dear  to  thee  in  that  new 
frame  of  things  wherein  "there  shall  be  no  more  sea." 
The  whale,  in  his  huge  volume  and  terrible  strength, 
is  yet  a  creature  of  mere  instinct,  that,  in  obedience  to 
the  impulses  of  its  nature,  seeks  and  finds  its  food 
and  pleasure  in  the  vast  field  which  God  has  made 
its  home,  desires  little,  acquires  nothing,  thinks  not, 
hopes  not,  fears  not,  and  is  no  more.  But  I  am  living 
for  eternity  and  for  God ;  my  thirst  for  knowledge  and 
for  happiness  is  boundless ;  my  feelings  and  doings  are 
tied  to  endless  effects ;  when  I  die,  I  do  but  pass  from 
infancy  to  manhood ;  I  am  preparing  for  endless  bliss 
or  eternal  misery.  "  For  who  knoweth  the  spirit  of 
man  that  goeth  upward,  and  the  spirit  of  the  beast 
that  goeth  downward  to  the  earth?"  Thou,  God,  art 
"  the  Father  of  spirits."  Thou  measurest  value  not 
by  material  volume  or  physical  efficiency,  but  by  like- 
ness to  thyself,  spiritual  furniture,  length  of  being. 
And  since  thou  hast  made  me  thus,  I  marvel  not  that 
thou  carest  for  me  thus ;  I  marvel  not  that  by  so  many 
precautions,  and  by  such  frequent  checks  and  correc- 
tions, thou  restrainest  me  from  ruining  so  precious  a 
substance,  and  filling  with  wretchedness  so  durable  a 
being. 

But  if  man  be  of  such  magnitude  and  worth  in  the 
eyes  of  his  Maker,  on  account  of  his  spiritual  and  im- 
mortal nature ;  if  in  him  vast  interests  are  involved 


MAN,  GREAT  IN  HIS  LITTLENESS.  123 

and  at  stake,  and  througli  his  pcrverseness  and  folly 
awfully  perilled ;  while  the  discovery  of  this  invisible 
value  may  serve  to  explain  the  fact  of  God's  vigilance 
and  jealousy  over  him,  does  not  account  for  the 
methods  in  which  they  are  exhibited.  The  character 
of  God's  providence  over  man  is  well  described  in  the 
phrase  of  Job,  "Thou  settest  a  watch  over  me,"  which 
denotes  constant  distrust,  observation,  and  vigilance, 
an  attitude  of  suspicion  and  alarm.  It  indicates  a 
cautious,  artful,  indirect  manner,  such  as  is  appro- 
priate to  the  pursuit  of  an  end  diificult  to  be  com- 
passed, the  slow,  circuitous,  gradual  accomplishment 
of  a  purpose,  the  open  disclosure  and  bold  prosecution 
of  which  might  be  likely  to  arouse  a  mighty  and  suc- 
cessful resistance.  And  can  this  be  a  true  picture  of 
the  way  in  which  the  great  God  treats  feeble  man? 
I  should  expect  more  summary  and  decisive  measures. 
If  man  has  a  valuable  soul,  in  danger  of  being  ruined, 
nigh  perdition,  and  through  his  deep  sinfulness  and 
insensibility  sure,  if  left  by  him,  to  fall  into  it,  I 
might  expect  that  God  who  knows  its  worth  and  pities 
its  wretchedness,  would  interpose  to  rescue  it;  but 
then  I  should  look  to  have  him  do  it  as  a  God,  with 
might,  celerity  and  completeness.  Yet  our  observa- 
tion and  experience  show  that  an  opposite  course  is 
actually  pursued ;  that  God  saves  man  as  it  were  by 
stratagem,  with  much  pains-taking  and  multiplied  en- 
deavours ;  that  He  treats  him  as  a  creature  of  great 
power  as  well  as  of  great  value,  who  can  effectually 
resist  God's  kind  designs,  who  must  consent  to  his  own 
deliverance,  who  must  co-operate  in  his  own  recovery, 


124  SERMON  X. 

■who  must  be  influenced,  and,  as  it  were,  gradually  and 
imperceptibly  lured,  to  the  pursuit  of  his  own  true  in- 
terests. God  watches  his  opportunity,  and  teaches 
him  wisdom  and  goodness  "  here  a  little  and  there  a 
little,"  now  drawing  him  with  "bands  of  love,"  and 
now  "visiting  his  iniquity  with  stripes,"  making  every 
event  the  inlet  of  a  monition,  a  reproof,  a  persuasion, 
and  seeking  by  a  long  continuance  of  care  and  eff'ort, 
to  "bring  back  his  soul  from  the  pit."  "Thou  stillest 
the  raging  of  the  sea  and  the  noise  of  his  waves,"  and 
"thou  breakest  the  heads  of  Leviathan  in  pieces  "  by 
one  word  or  look ;  but  me  "  thou  settest  a  watch  over," 
and  treatest  with  great  deference  and  circumspection, 
as  though  I  were  more  powerful  and  unmanageable  than 
they.  Here  a  new  phase  of  human  greatness  presents 
itself.  Man  is  not  only  a  spiritual  and  immortal 
creature,  but  a  being  of  will,  a  voluntary  agent,  the 
arbiter  of  his  own  destiny,  by  the  liberal  gift  of  his 
Creator  impowered  to  be  and  to  do  what  he  pleases, 
and  tacitly  assured  that  this  high  prerogative  shall 
never  be  violated  or  overborne.  If  I  will  die,  I  must ; 
if  I  will  live,  I  may.  God,  who  hath  made  me  thus, 
will  never  degrade  me  into  a  machine  in  order  to  save 
me.  I  cannot  be  saved  from  misery  by  mere  force, 
without  such  an  infringement  of  my  right,  such  a  dis- 
franchisement of  my  privilege  of  choosing  for  myself, 
as  would  in  itself  be  a  terrible  perdition.  Liberty  is  a 
dangerous  thing,  involving  fearful  hazards.  The  con- 
trol of  a  wise,  good  despot  might  be  much  safer.  Yet 
who  would  be  a  slave?  God  can  only  "set  a  watch 
over  me,"  and  eye  me  with  an  affectionate  solicitude. 


MAN,  GREAT  IN  HIS  LITTLENESS.  125 

And  surely  he  spares  no  expense  to  persuade  me  to 
choose  aright,  and  impress  me  with  a  sense  of  my  own 
importance,  and  of  the  vastness  of  the  stake  depen- 
dent on  my  choice.  The  blood  of  his  Son,  shed  that 
he  might  have  mercy,  calleth  on  me  to  have  mercy  on 
myself.  "The  Spirit  and  the  bride  say,  Come."  His 
awful  judgments  and  touching  visitations,  call  to  me, 
"Turn  ye,  turn  ye;  why  will  ye  die?" 

I  call  upon  you,  dear  brethren,  to  esteem  and  treat 
yourselves,  as  your  God  esteems  and  treats  you.  Oh ! 
remember  that  you  have  souls,  akin  to  God,  liberally 
endowed,  immortal,  that  will  live  and  be  happy  or 
wretched,  when  this  earth  has  been  burned  up  and  the 
"heavens  rolled  together  as  a  scroll."  Remember 
that  God  rolls  the  decision,  and  the  whole  responsi- 
bility, and  the  whole  momentous  result  upon  you;  and 
that  while  he  waits  upon  you  and  watches  over  you  for 
good,  he  tells  you,  "I  come  quickly,"  and  oftentimes 
— Oh!  how  solemnly  are  we  admonished  of  it! — "as  a 
thief  in  the  night."  Oh  slumber  not  over  the  posses- 
sion and  charge  and  responsibility  of  such  a  treasure. 
So  respected  and  cared  for  by  the  great  God,  begin 
to  respect  and  care  for  yourselves.  Cease  caring  for 
the  things  that  "  perish  in  the  using. "  "  Seek  first  the 
kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteousness."  "For  what 
shall  it  profit  a  man,  to  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose 
his  soul?  " 


126  SERMON  XI. 


SERMON  XI. 

AGAINST    BORROWING    TROUBLE. 
Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  tlie  evil  thereof. — St.  Matthew  vi.  34. 

Our  Lord,  in  the  passage  which  ends  -with  these 
words,  cautions  Christian  men  against  undue  solicitude 
about  the  future,  teaching  them  to  "  cast  all  their  care 
on  God  who  careth  for  them" — to  "be  careful  for  no- 
thing, but  in  every  thing,  by  prayer  and  supplication, 
with  thanksgiving,  to  let  their  requests  be  made  known 
unto  God ;"  assuring  them,  that  then,  "the  peace  of  God, 
which  passeth  all  understanding,  shall  keep  their  hearts 
and  minds  through  Christ  Jesus."  And  he  enforces 
his  exhortations  by  a  reference  to  the  fowls  of  the  air, 
and  the  lilies  of  the  field, — "They  sow  not,  neither  do 
they  reap,  nor  gather  into  barns ;  yet  your  heavenly  Fa- 
ther feedeth  them:  " — "They  toil  not,  neither  do  they 
spin ;  and  yet  I  say  unto  you  that  Solomon  in  all  his 
glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these."  I  said,  U7i- 
diie  solicitude ;  for  it  is  quite  evident  that  our  Saviour 
did  not  intend  to  forbid  or  discountenance  all  kinds 
and  degrees  of  thought  and  concern  for  the  future,  or 
to  press  the  example  of  the  fowls  and  the  lilies  to  an 
exact  and  literal  imitation,  as  though  men,  like  them, 
might  hope  to  be  fed  and  clothed  without  labour  or 
forecast,  by  simply  relying  upon  God.     It  is  worthy 


AGAIXST  BORROWING  TROUBLE.  127 

of  notice,  that  they  are  incapable  of  such  reliance,  and 
cannot  know  and  trust  the  God  who  cares  for  them. 
Nor  have  they  faculties  by  which  they  can  make  that 
provision  for  their  own  wants,  which  God  bountifully 
bestows  on  them  without  it.  They  have  neither  the 
reliance  which  might  take  the  place  of  industry,  nor 
the  industry  which  might  relieve  them  from  reliance. 
Nature  has  denied  them  the  endowments  which  are  re- 
quisite to  either ;  and  therefore  they  are  excused  from 
both.  They  are  liable  to  no  such  perversions  of  reli- 
gion, as  that  which  finds  in  faith  an  apology  for  idle- 
ness ;  nor  to  any  such  self-conceit,  as  that  which  loses 
sight  of  God  in  worldly  wisdom  and  endeavour.  They 
can  be  neither  religious  nor  working  creatures ;  and 
therefore  God  takes  care  of  them  equally  without  faith 
and  without  labour.  But  man  is  capable  of  both;  and 
therefore,  both  are  exacted  of  him.  He  must  temper 
faith  with  effort,  and  sanctify  effort  with  faith.  Re- 
liance on  God  alone  will  soon  reduce  him  to  hunger 
and  nakedness;  for  God  never  promised  to  feed  and 
clothe  him  in  that  way — he  is  neither  a  bird  nor  a 
flower.  And  yet,  the  most  wise  and  well  directed  la- 
bour, unconsecrated  by  trust  and  gratitude  and  prayer, 
though  it  may  feed  him  with  sumptuous  fare  and  ar- 
ray him  in  gorgeous  apparel,  will  subject  him  to  the 
displeasure  of  God;  and  then,  it  will  soon  appear,  that 
his  "riches  are  corrupted,  and  his  garments  are  moth- 
eaten;"  that  "his  gold  and  silver  are  cankered,  and 
the  rust  of  them  shall  be  a  witness  against  him,  and 
shall  eat  his  flesh  as  it  were  fire;"  that  "he  has  heaped 
treasure  together  for  the  last  days."     It  is  evident 


128  SERMON  XI. 

then,  that  the  bird  and  the  lily  are  simply  held  out  to 
us  as  tokens  of  God's  care  for  his  creatures,  of  appro- 
priate care,  such  care  as  the  nature  and  qualifications 
of  the  creature  require,  care  for  the  bird  suited  to  it, 
care  for  the  lily  suited  to  that,  and  care  for  man  suited 
to  Mm.  God's  intervention  begins,  where  the  crea- 
ture's ability  ends.  And  when  the  creature  has  con- 
sumed its  power,  God  will  do  for  it  all  that  is  neces- 
sary for  its  real  welfare  beyond  that.  It  were  a  degra- 
dation of  man  to  care  for  him  as  for  the  bird  or  the 
lily ;  for  that  were  to  treat  him  as  though  he  were  unin- 
telligent or  insensate.  We  have  thought  and  action, 
and  when  we  duly  employ  these  with  a  proper  sense  of 
our  dependence,  God  will  prosper  our  wisdom  and  in- 
dustry, and  prove  to  us  by  experience,  how  true  it  is, 
that  "  they  who  fear  the  Lord  shall  want  no  manner 
of  thing  that  is  good."  All  forecast  and  thought  about 
the  future  is  not  forbidden.  We  could  not  live  with- 
out it,  according  to  the  order  of  providence.  We  could 
not  avoid  it  with  our  natural  constitutions.  Without 
a  reference  to  the  future  we  could  not  properly  carry 
on  the  system  of  life.  The  very  inferior  orders  of 
creatures,  to  which  our  Saviour  refers  us,  teach  a  dif- 
ferent lesson  from  this.  The  plant  one  year  forms  the 
bud  which  is  to  be  the  foliage  and  flowering  of  a 
second.  The  bee  stores  up  its  hoard  for  future  use. 
The  ant  "provideth  her  meat  in  the  summer  and 
gathereth  her  food  in  the  harvest." 

But  it  is  quite  evident  that  there  is  a  limit  to  this 
care,  and  that  this  limit  man  is  greatly  prone  to  trans- 
cend.    And  it  is  against  this  tendency  that  our  Lord 


AGAINST  BORROWING  TROUBLE.  129 

directs  his  warning.  AYe  are  given  to  thinking  about 
the  future  atheistically  and  self-conceitedly,  as  though 
there  were  no  God  to  take  care  of  it,  as  though  it  were 
given  up  to  a  blind  fate,  to  be  the  sport  of  accident,  or 
the  prey  of  a  ruthless  and  unfeeling  destiny ;  and  as 
though  all  that  was  to  be  done  to  rescue  it  from  the  ca- 
prices  of  chance  or  the  decrees  of  unsympathizing  power, 
is  to  be  done  by  us,  with  our  contracted  forethought, 
our  feeble  judgment,  and  limited  ability.  Then,  we  grovf 
uneasy,  apprehensive,  fretful  and  fault-finding,  and  poi- 
son all  present  blessings  with  the  anticipation  of  coming 
evil,  depreciate  them  in  contrast  with  brilliant  dreams, 
and  pile  upon  the  sure  and  inevitable  troubles  of  the  pre- 
sent the  troubles  of  a  future,  that  may  never  come,  or 
if  it  comes,  will  not  be  cheered  or  mitigated  by  our  pre- 
sent untimely  forebodings.  The  true  Christian  temper 
of  mind  is  to  look  seriously,  attentively  and  calmly  on 
the  prospect  before  us,  as  the  shadows  of  coming 
events  loom  up  to  view,  put  ourselves  in  the  best  pos- 
ture we  can  devise  to  endure  the  shock  or  welcome 
the  blessing,  and  apply  ourselves  quietly  and  faithful- 
ly to  the  course  of  action  which  seems  appropriate 
to  the  circumstances,  if  any  there  be,  with  prayer  to 
God  that  he  will  not  let  us  be  harmed  by  the  good  or 
ill  that  futurity  carries  in  its  bosom.  Then,  we  ought 
not  to  suffer  our  thoughts  to  dwell  upon  it,  so  as  to  turn 
the  present  stale  with  some  dehrious  hope,  and  render 
it  all  uneasy  and  tumultuous  with  panting  impatience 
and  curiosity,  or  becloud  it  with  dark  shadows  and 
images  of  possible  or  probable  calamity,  but  leave  it 
with  God,  who  alone  has  any  effectual  care  and  order- 
12 


130  ^  SERMON  XI. 

ing  of  it,  and  who,  -whatever  it  may  be  charged  with, 
will  not  forget  his  promise,  that  he  will  "  make  all 
things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  him," 
and  "will  keep  those  whose  minds  are  stayed  on  him 
in  perfect  peace."  To  draw  the  line  between  a 
justifiable,  salutary  concern  for  the  future,  and  one 
which  is  sinful  and  injurious,  with  mathematical  pre- 
cision, is  impracticable.  It  is  not  a  thing  of  definition, 
but  of  spiritual  instinct.  A  right  heart  feels  it,  though 
it  is  not  to  be  delineated  in  words.  In  general  we 
may  say,  that  all  anticipation  is  wrong  which  implies 
any  distrust  of  Almighty  wisdom  and  goodness,  which 
needlessly  imbitters  the  present  with  painful  appre- 
hensions, or  which  clogs  and  enfeebles  the  man  in  the 
task  which  present  duty  prescribes,  by  the  distracting 
influence  of  hope,  or  the  benumbing  operation  of  fear. 
The  text  is  a  caution  against  what  is  commonly  called, 
and  not  inappropriately,  borrowing  trouble,  or  adding 
to  the  evil  of  to-day  the  evil  of  to-morrow  by  antici- 
pation. A  slightly  different  translation  makes  the 
sense  clearer  and  more  forcible — Sufficient  unto  the  day 
is  its  own  evil.  Its  own  evil  is  that  evil  which  is  its 
inevitable  portion.  And  this  is  here  impliedly  set  in 
opposition  to  the  additional  and  factitious  evil  which 
arises  from  the  real  or  supposed  foresight  of  approach- 
ing trouble.  This  borrowing  trouble  is  unwise,  un- 
profitable, mischievous;  it  needlessly  augments  the 
miseries  of  life;  it  unnecessarily  abridges  the  sum  of 
human  enjoyment;  it  is  unworthy  an  enlightened  phi- 
losopher ;  it  contradicts  and  dishonours  the  creed  and 
profession  of  a  Christian. 


AGAINST  BOmiOWINa  TROUBLE.  131 

Let  us  consider  then,  first,  that  the  evil  o*f  the  day 
is  sujQScient  for  it,  always  as  much  as  it  will  well  bear, 
and  needing  no  foreign  and  gratuitous  enhancements. 
Evil  is  meted  out  to  man  by  a  Hand,  that  is  not  only 
sovereign  and  irresistible,  but  also  wise  and  benignant. 
He  apportions  it,  and  assigns  to  each  day  of  life  its 
own  appropriate,  and  profitable  share.    The  distribution 
of  evil,  any  more  than  its  existence,  is  not  fortuitous  nor 
capricious.     It  is  the  fruit  of  forethought,  design  and 
consideration.    Viewed  as  a  remedy,  it  is  administered 
with  discrimination  and  judgment.     Viewed  as  disci- 
pline, it  is  applied  with  an  accurate  and  discerning  re- 
ference to  the  condition  and  character  of  its  subjects. 
The  remedy  is  in  the  hands  of  Infallibility,  that  cannot 
fail  to  distribute  it  aright.     The  discipline  is  directed 
by  One,  who  measures  the  want  and  the  efficacy  with 
an  unerring  exactness.     Evil,  surely,  is  no  where  so 
safely  trusted  as  in  the  hands  of  God,  who  "  does  not 
afflict  willingly  or  grieve  the  children  of  men,"  but 
"corrects  them  with  judgment."      What  should  we 
think  of  that  physician,  who  should  estimate  at  the 
outset  how  much  medici  le  was  necessary  to  restore 
the  patient,  and  forci  the  whole  of  it  upon  him  at  once, 
instead  of  dividing  it  into  portions  to  be  given  to  him 
from  day  to  day  and  from  hour  to  hour,  as  the  phases 
and  changes  of  his  disorder  may  indicate,  but  that  he 
was  more  likely  to  kill  than  to  cure?     Or  what  should 
we  think  of  correction  bestowed  at  the  fancy  or  ca- 
price of  the  master,  and  not  with  a  discerning  reference 
to  the  cure  of  the  pupil,  but  that  it  would  be  more  apt 
to  harden  than  to  reform  ?      And  now  suppose  that  the 
patient  or  the  pupil  should  take  the  matter  into  his 


132  SERMON  XI. 

own  hands ;  tliat  the  first  should  choose  to  take  half 
a  dozen  doses  of  the  medicine  at  once,  and  the  se- 
cond to  consolidate  into  a  day,  the  punishment  of  a 
month ;  would  it  be  well  for  them  to  have  their  way? 
The  success  of  that  regimen  of  discipline  under  which 
we  live,  of  which  evil  is  an  essential  instrumentality, 
depends  altogether  upon  its  enlightened  and  judicious 
administration,  its  appointment  in  various  measures  to 
suit  our  ever-varying  necessity.  Every  day  has  its 
own  evil,  and  that  evil  is  sufficient  for  it,  just  so  much 
as  suits  its  occasions,  no  more,  no  less.  The  adminis- 
tration would  not  be  improved  by  our  interference. 
God  knows  us  thoroughly,  just  what  we  are,  and  what 
we  need.  We  need  never  fear  any  error,  any  defi- 
ciency, any  excess,  in  his  treatment.  The  thing  is 
safest  where  it  is.  Sufficient  then  unto  the  day  is  the 
evil  thereof.  Evil  comes  in  various  measures,  but  it 
is  never  absent.  Its  stream  runs  parallel  with  the 
current  of  life,  and  every  where  touches  and  tinges  it. 
Is  not  the  evil  of  the  day  enough  for  it?  Who  wants 
more?  Who  finds  any  occasion  to  go  hunting  into 
the  recesses  of  futurity  to  find  material  to  eke  it  out 
to  a  respectable  magnitude?  Who  is  so  cloyed  with 
the  sweetness  and  richness  of  his  cup,  that  he  feels  con- 
strained to  look  about  him  for  some  bitter  to  moderate 
the  oppressive  felicity  ?  Who  is  so  happy,  that  he  feels 
obliged  to  turn  self-tormentor,  and  manufacture  a  little 
misery  to  himself,  so  as  to  restore  things  to  a  decent 
equilibrium?  The  evil  of  the  day  is  enough  for  it. 
The  day  has  its  evil.  It  comes  as  surely  as  the  day. 
The  evil  the  day  needs,  the  evil  God  has  appointed 
for  it,  wisely,  kindly,  paternally,  with  that  let  us  be 


AGAINST  BORROWING  TROUBLE.  133 

content,  and  neither  murmur  under  it  nor  foolisHy 
augment  it. 

Consider,  again,  that  this  borrowing  trouble  is  a 
doubling  of  life's  evil.     AYe  have  it  once  in  actual  ex- 
perience.    That  is  inevitable.     There  is  no  escaping 
it  but  by  removing  out  of  the  flesh.     It  is  God's  ap- 
pointment for  us.   "  We  may  not  contend  with  Him  that 
is  stronger  than  we."     If  we  are  wise,  we  shall  not 
essay  the  silly  undertaking.     And  there  is  enough  of 
evil  in  life  to  make  it  sufficiently  sombre.     I  do  not 
think  we  need  to  be  touching  it  up  with  additional 
shades  of  melancholy.     There  is  enough  of  it  which 
we  cannot  get  rid  of.     Now  then,  what  is  the  use  of 
rehearsals  ?    Where  is  the  wisdom  of  taking  our  griefs 
one  by  one  before  they  come,  feeling  them,  groaning 
under  them,  sighing  over  them,  and  laying  the  sha- 
dowy things  up  to  be  borne  again  in  all  their  dire  re- 
ality when  we  reach  them  in  their  turn?     We  are  to- 
day bearing  the  grief  of  to-day ;  and  as  certain  as  the 
day  is  here,  the  grief  is  with  it,  great  or  small.     Now 
suppose  we  reach  forward  and  lay  hold  of  the  grief  of 
to-morrow,  and  picture  it  out  to  ourselves,  and  make 
it  as  real  as  we  can,  and  murmur  under  its  load.    What 
do  we  do  but  bear  to-morrow's  grief  twice,  when  we  need 
only  bear  it  once?     God  appoints  it  to  us  once,  and 
we  appoint  it  to  ourselves  twice.     Surely  grief  must 
be  a  most  desirable  luxury,  to  be  so  eagerly  sought  and 
so  ingeniously  obtained.     Such  borrowed  sorrows  are 
not  salutary.     God's  inflictions  may  do  us  good,  will 
do  us  good,  if  wisely  borne ;  but  these  self-inflictions 
are  utterly  unprofitable.     God  withheld  them  from  us 
12* 


134 


8ERM0N  XI. 


because  they  were  not  salutary,  by  darkening  the  future 
with  a  vail.  AYe  tear  the  vail  apart,  and  feed  our  grief 
■with  our  discoveries.  And  what  is  the  effect?  The 
nerve  of  resolution  is  unstrung,  the  arm  of  exertion  is 
paralyzed,  w^e  grow  timid  and  desponding,  the  dark 
side  of  things  is  always  before  us,  we  fret  against  God, 
and  become  ungrateful  for  our  blessings,  and  unfit  for 
our  duties. 

Consider,  still  further,  that  many  of  these  borrowed 
troubles  are  unreal  and  deceptive.  We  not  only  heap 
upon  the  troubles  of  to-day  the  troubles  of  to-morrow, 
but  troubles  that  are  no  where.  We  cannot  tell  what 
to-morrow  will  be  till  to-morrow  comes ;  and  then  it 
may  differ  greatly  from  our  expectations.  Certainly, 
it  often  has.  We  are  only  guessing,  and  guessing  very 
much  at  random.  We  know  there  wall  be  evil  in  to- 
morrow, for  that  is  inseparable  from  life ;  but  what  it 
will  be,  how  much,  of  what  sort,  we  only  imagine,  and 
often  very  erroneously.  Our  insight  into  the  future 
is  very  feeble  and  uncertain.  We  scarcely  see  dis- 
tinctly an  inch  before  us.  Our  whole  life  past  has 
been  teaching  us  that  lesson.  Perpetually,  our  life 
has  been  taking  turns  that  we  did  not  foresee,  and 
running  wide  of  objects  which  seemed  to  be  right  be- 
fore us.  "The  way  of  man  is  not  in  himself."  "We 
know  not  what  shall  be  on  the  morrow."  Anticipated 
good  often  disappears ;  but  then,  do  not  grim  mon- 
sters that  stand  menacing  in  our  paths  often  vanish  too? 
That  w^iich  looks  so  dark  to  us  may  be  light  when  w^e 
reach  it.] 

"The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 
Are  big  with  mercy,  and  shall  break 
In  blessings  on  your  head." 


AGAINST  BORROWING  TROUBLE.  135 

Is  it  wise,  is  it  right,  to  make  ourselves  unhappy 
about  that  ■which  may  never  come,  which  may  be  so 
different  from  our  fears  if  it  does  come,  which,  if  it  be 
the  very  worst  we  anticipate,  will  be  after  all  a  blessing 
in  disguise?     For — 

Consider,  finally,  the  future  is  in  the  hands  of  God. 
And  is  it  not  then  in  good  hands,  in  competent  hands, 
in  judicious  hands,  in  friendly  hands?  Where  else 
should  it  be  ?  Where  else  would  we  have  it  ?  What 
can  our  premature  grievings  about  it  do  ?  Any  thing 
to  make  it  better?  How  futile  are  all  these  forebo- 
dings and  anxieties  of  ours  !  How  little  can  they  effect ! 
"Which  of  you  with  taking  thought  can  add  one  cubit 
to  his  stature  ?  "  "  Thou  canst  not  make  one  hair  white 
or  black. ' '  But  I  very  well  know,  that  it  is  vain  to  think 
of  curing  men  of  their  solicitude  by  reminding  them 
of  their  weakness.  They  will  not  grieve  the  less  over 
impending  evil  because  they  have  no  power  to  avert 
it,  but  the  more.  But  may  we  not  hope  to  cure  it  by 
reminding  them  of  God — God,  the  wise,  the  considerate, 
the  gracious,  the  kind — God,  their  father  and  their 
friend — God,  "the  father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,"  in 
Him  "  reconciling  the  world  unto  himself,"  and  "making 
all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love 
him?"  Surely,  we  may.  Have  faith  in  God.  Cast 
all  your  care  upon  him.  Commit  yourselves  into  his 
hands.     Leave  all  your  interests  at  his  disposal. 

"  The  God  of  heaven  is  ours, 
Our  Father  and  our  Love, 
His  care  shall  guard  life's  fleeting  hours, 
Then  waft  our  souls  above." 


^  86  SERMON  XII. 


SERMON  XII. 

THE    REVERENCE    OF    CHILDHOOD. 

Take  lieed  that  ye  despise  not  one  of  these  little  ones. — St.  Matthew 
XVIII.  10. 

Our  Saviour  passed  through  all  the  stages  of  human 
life,  that  he  might  bless  and  sanctify  them  all.  And 
as  they  all  are  sharers  in  his  salvation,  so  are  they  all 
partakers  of  his  sujBferings.  We  all  in  our  own  sphere 
and  way  help  to  "fill  up  that  w  ich  is  behind  of  the 
sufferings  of  Christ,"  and  all  taste  that  bitter  cup  of 
which  he  drank  so  deeply,  that  by  assimilation  to  him 
in  pain  we  may  become  also  participants  of  his  glory. 
He,  "the  Prince  of  peace,"  yet  "came  not  to  bring 
peace  on  earth  but  a  sword;"  and  significantly  its 
first  stroke  fell  on  children  when  he  first  began  to  be 
a  child,  and  the  sword  that  sought  his  life  exalted 
childhood  to  unconscious  martyrdom  for  his  sake.  And 
surely,  on  the  day*  when  we  think  of  Christ  as  a  child, 
and  of  those  children,  who  at  the  beginning  of  his  life 
laid  down  their  lives  on  his  account,  it  is  meet  that 
we  should  consider,  what  childhood,  thus  honoured 
by  Christ  and  for  Christ,  is,  and  what  claims  it  has  to 
our  serious  consideration  and  religious  regard.  And 
the  words  of  our  Saviour  which  I  have  just  read  may 
well  serve  to  direct  and  inform  our  meditations. 

We  are  not  wont  to  look  upon  childhood  as  an  object 

*  Holy  Innocents. 


THE  EEVERENCB  OF  CHILDHOOD.  137 

of  reverence,  and  yet  such  Qur  Saviour  seems  to  esteem 
and  represent  it.  When  his  disciples,  viewing  children 
with  worldly  eyes,  reproved  men  for  bringing  them  to 
him,  as  though  they  were  of  too  small  importance  to 
occupy  his  time  and  attention,  and  it  were  supersti- 
tious to  suppose  them  capable  of  deriving  benefit  from 
coming  to  him,  he  reproved  them  in  return,  and  said, 
"  Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid 
them  not;  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
And  he  took  them  up  in  his  arms,  put  his  hands  upon 
them,  and  blessed  them."  He  tells  us,  "In  heaven  their 
angels  do  always  behold  the  face  of  my  Father,  which 
is  in  heaven."  And  he  cautions  men  against  falling 
into  that  habit  of  holding  them  in  light  esteem  to  which 
they  are  prone:  "Take  heed  that  ye  despise  not  one 
of  these  little  ones."  Children  are  very  apt  to  be 
treated  with  disrespect;  but  this  disrespect  is  thought- 
less, shallow,  unbelieving.  When  men  slight  a  child, 
they  look  upon  it  according  to  its  appearance  and  as 
it  is,  and  forget  what  is  in  it  and  what  it  is  to  be.  The 
more  reflective,  enlightened  and  far-seeing  a  man  is, 
the  less  will  he  be  disposed  to  despise  a  child.  Fri- 
volous, unthinking  persons  may — a  philosopher  will 
do  no  such  thing.  And  what  shall  we  say  of  a  Christian 
who  does  it,  but  that  he  betrays  a  sad  want  of  reflection 
and  forethought,  or  that  his  views  of  the  Gospel 
are  terribly  warped  by  false  theories  of  the  laws  of 
grace,  and  the  modes  and  circumstances  of  its  working 
on  human  souls.  And  yet  men  of  more  consideration 
and  of  better  theories,  it  is  to  be  feared,  seldom  realize 
childhood  as  it  is,  or  feel  as  they  ought  the  momentous- 


138  SERMON  XII. 

ness  of  their  relations  to  it,  or  the  measure  of  their 
duty  and  their  influence  in  regard  to  it. 

Let  us  consider  then  some  of  the  claims  of  child- 
hood to  the  reverence  of  men. 

What  is  a  child?  A  child  is  then  the  germ  of  a 
man ;  and  he  who  looks  upon  it  with  just  and  enlight- 
ened eyes  sees  in  it  the  man  it  is  destined  to  be.  He 
is  no  just  judge  of  a  thing  who  fails  to  recognise  in  it 
any  capacity  it  may  possibly  possess  of  becoming  more 
than  it  is.  In  despising  a  mean  present,  we  may  be 
despising  the  promise  of  a  glorious  futurity.  A  bud 
is  the  prophecy  of  a  flower  and  of  a  fruit.  And  he 
who  crushes  an  acorn  under  foot,  crushes  under  foot 
the  possibility  of  an  oak  with  all  its  strength  and 
greatness  and  endurance  and  manifold  utility.  A  wise 
man  looks  upon  a  child  and  prophesies ;  he  sees  it  in 
its  future  as  well  as  in  its  now,  he  sees  it  as  it  is  to  be 
far  more  than  as  it  is.  A  child  is  such  a  germ,  for  it  is 
a  being  of  mind,  and  as  such  is  a  creature  of  great 
improvability :  its  present  ignorance  capable  of  being 
displaced  by  great  acquisitions  of  knowledge ;  its  men- 
tal weakness  capable  of  being  cultivated  into  great  in- 
telligence and  great  intellectual  power.  None  that 
look  upon  a  child  can  foretell  where  the  limits  of  its 
development  and  acquisition  will  be.  Solomon  was  a 
child,  and  Plato  and  Newton,  and  so  were  all  who  have 
made  the  highest  attainments  in  knowledge  and  wis- 
dom, all  the  giants  of  letters  and  science.  Even  an 
ordinary  man  is  a  wonder,  if  he  look  at  the  number  of 
things  he  knows,  and  the  power  and  compass  of  his 
thoughts.     A  child,  as  a  being  of  mind,  is  a  person. 


THE  REVERENCE  OF  CHILDHOOD.  139 

This  he  is  by  virtue  of  his  participation  of  humanity, 
to  which  alone  of  earthly  existences  mind  pertains. 
There  is  nothing  else  in  all  this  world  but  human 
beings,  that  is  more  than  a  thing.  And  who  can  tell 
how  wide  is  the  interval  between  a  person  and  a  thing, 
the  meanest  person  and  the  most  exalted  thing?  The 
child's  is  an  incipient  personality,  but  it  is  a  true  per- 
sonality, and  it  contains  the  pledge  of  its  own  maturi- 
ty. And  personality  is  incomparably  the  greatest 
thing  this  world  contains,  upon  every  just  and  enlight- 
ened principle  of  computation.  It  is  this  which  con- 
stitutes man  the  image  of  God,  as  it  consists  in  the  pos- 
session of  an  intellectual  and  moral  nature  like  his. 
Brute  strength  or  material  magnitude  is  nothing  to 
this.  Man  is  the  possessor  of  a  soul.  This  allies  him 
to  angels  and  all  orders  of  higher  intelligences ;  while 
it  puts  a  wide  distinction  between  him  and  all  other 
earthly  beings.  In  this  world,  hence,  he  is  not  of  it. 
And  all  approaches  to  this  his  peculiar  glory,  in  beings 
of  this  world,  are  but  pitiful  imitations  and  abortive 
endeavours.  As  a  person  he  possesses  character.  He 
is  voluntary.  He  chooses  his  own  end  and  his  own 
course.  He  exercises  judgment  in  the  adaptation  of 
means  to  his  purposes.  He  knows  his  Maker,  compre- 
hends the  idea  of  law,  understands  what  a  free  obe- 
dience is,  feels  responsibility,  and  anticipates  reward. 
He  acts  from  motives.  He  is  not  driven  by  blind  im- 
pulses, and  drawn  by  blind  instincts,  to  do  just  what,  with 
unvarying  sameness,  his  race  have  always  done,  with- 
out capacity  to  alter  or  vary  his  course  of  action.  He 
makes  the  accumulated  wisdom  of  all  past  generations 


140  SERMON  XII. 

the  basis  of  new  advances  and  new  inventions,  and  by 
the  energy  and  inventiveness  of  his  will  stamps  on  his 
life  individuality  and  originality.  He  comprehends 
his  own  history,  sees  himself  in  the  past  as  well  as  in 
the  present,  traces  the  progress  of  his  life,  realizes 
its  continuity,  and,  through  a  long  train  of  events  and 
actions,  feels  the  unbroken  line  of  his  being,  himself 
always  the  very  same  recipient  and  doer.  *' There  is 
a  spirit  in  man,  and  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty 
hath  given  him  understanding."  And  we  need  but 
look  at  his  learning  and  his  works  to  see  how  much  he 
is  capable  of  knowing  and  of  doing.  This  spiritual 
nature  exalts  him  very  high  above  any  being  that  is 
destitute  of  it.  There  are  in  this  world  things  of  man's 
making  physically  much  greater  than  himself.  But 
the  maker  is  greater  than  his  work ;  and  they  are  but 
shadows  and  evidences  of  his  spiritual  greatness. 

A  child  is  an  immortal  being.  What  a  transcen- 
dent value  does  this  impress  upon  him  !  He  shall 
outlive  the  world  in  which  he  lives,  and  the  world  has 
its  chief  value  as  the  place  in  which  he  may  learn  to 
live  an  eternal  life.  The  proudest  structures  of  his 
skill,  the  most  enduring  monuments  of  his  ability,  in- 
genuity and  perseverance,  must  in  the  end  crumble 
and  come  to  nought.  There  is  nothing  of  all  we  see, 
however  excellent,  firm,  incorruptible,  that  is  not  des- 
tined in  the  end  to  perish.  "  The  world  passeth  away." 
''  Of  old  hast  thou  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth,  and 
the  heavens  are  the  work  of  thy  hands.  They  shall 
perish,  but  thou  shalt  endure:  yea,  all  of  them  shall 
wax  old  like  a  garment,  and  as  a  vesture  shalt  thou 


THE  REVERENCE  OF  CHILDHOOD.  141 

change  them,  and  they  shall  be  changed :  but  thou  art 
the  same,  and  thy  years  shall  have  no  end.  And  the 
children  of  thy  servants  shall  continue,  and  their  seed 
shall  be  established  before  thee."  To  man  alone,  of 
all  things  in  this  visible  creation,  has  God  given  being 
in  perpetuity,  without  liability  to  recall,  or  possibili- 
ty of  discontinuance;  to  him  alone,  communicated  a 
share  of  his  own  immortality.  To  what  an  immeasu- 
rable distinction  does  this  exalt  him!  How  great  is 
he  in  his  littleness !  A  babe  is  greater  than  a  moun- 
tain. What  is  a  star  to  a  child !  The  stars  shall  fade, 
at  last,  and  "fall  from  heaven,  as  a  fig-tree  casteth  her 
untimely  fruit."  But  the  child  is  the  beginning  of  a 
being,  which  is  to  last  always,  whose  weal' or  wo  is  to 
run  parallel  with  the  existence  of  its  Maker.  It  is  a 
lamp  kindled  never  to  go  out,  a  spring  welling  forth 
to  flow  forever,  the  shooting  of  a  seed  that  shall  not 
wither,  nor  cease  to  yield  fruit  eternally.  What  a  dig- 
nity does  this  impart  to  man !  What  solemnity  at- 
taches to  the  beginning  of  such  a  creature !  Who  will 
look  upon  a  child  thoughtlessly  or  treat  it  carelessly — 
spark  of  the  heavenly,  beginning  to  shine  upon  the  earth 
— germ  of  an  existence  that  is  to  outlast  the  earth 
itself!  No  wise  man  will  ever  think  a  child  a  proper 
thing  to  regard  with  contempt  or  disrespect  or  indif- 
ference. The  wise  men  of  old  time  fell  down  and 
worshipped  the  infant  Jesus,  looking  on  him  with  the 
prophetic  eye  of  faith.  And  all  wise  men  look  upon 
a  child  and  prophesy;  they  see  the  future  in  him, 
they  see  eternity  in  him.  They  reverence  in  him  the 
eternal,  and  feel  how  poor,  in  comparison  of  it,  is  all 
13 


142  SERMON  XII. 

material,  perishable  greatness,  power  and  splendour. 
There  is  not  a  child  for  which  the  Lord  did  not  come 
down  from  heaven  to  live  and  die.  And  He  it  is,  who 
says  to  men  in  a  voice  of  solemn  warning,  "Take  heed 
that  ye  despise  not  one  of  these  little  ones." 

We  are  to  remember,  that  on  the  present  treatment 
of  the  child,  largely  depends  the  future  of  the  man. 
It  is  this  consideration  that  renders  our  subject  prac- 
tical. This  takes  it  away  from  the  region  of  mere 
sentiment,  and  brings  it  into  the  sphere  of  practice. 
It  would  matter  little,  what  were  our  thoughts  of  a 
child,  if  our  thinking  exerted  no  influence  on  its  cha- 
racter. But  the  case  is  very  different.  Our  thinking 
will  determine  our  conduct,  and  our  conduct  will  go 
far  to  fix  its  condition.  It  is  a  lump  of  clay,  to  be 
made  a  vessel  unto  honour,  or  a  vessel  unto  dishonour, 
a  vessel  of  wrath,  or  a  vessel  of  salvation.  It  is  a  slen- 
der and  tractable  branch ;  and  "just  as  the  twig  is  bent, 
the  tree's  inclined."  We  are  the  child's  educators. 
We  may  not  be  the  child's  parents,  or  its  sponsors,  or 
its  guardians,  or  its  teachers,  or  its  pastors,  or  its  em- 
ployers, or  sustain  any  definite  relation  to  it ;  but  if  it 
is  moving  about  in  the  sphere  we  occupy,  we  are  its 
educators.  Every  time  we  come  into  contact  with  it, 
we  leave  our  mark  upon  it.  It  is  a  fearful  thing,  to  be 
jostling  against  such  an  impressible  thing,  and  making, 
by  our  careless  or  awkward  or  wanton  motions,  traces 
upon  it  which  are  ineffaceable.  And  yet  this  is  what 
we  are  doing  all  the  while.  A  man  might,  more  pru- 
dently and  harmlessly,  walk  blindfold  and  rough-shod 
over  a  floor  bespread  with  precious  articles,  so  fragile, 


THE  REVERENCE  OF  CHILDHOOD.  143 

as  hardly  to  endure  a  touch.  It  is  a  small  part  of 
education  only  that  is  done  in  schools  and  nurseries 
and  churches.  The  common  seeing  and  hearing  of  out 
door  life,  the  unconsidered  communications,  the  careless 
deportment  of  common  time  are  doing  their  part  also, 
and  that  by  no  means  the  least.  We  despise  these  little 
ones,  when  we  fail  to  remember,  that  we,  in  these  ways, 
are  contributing  to  form  them  and  fix  them  forever.  No 
man  will  easily  convince  others  that  he  has  a  proper  es- 
timation of  jewels  which  he  carelessly  tosses  about  and 
tramples  upon.  We  despise  a  little  one,  when  we  neglect 
it,  when  we  do  not  put  forth  a  purposed  effort,  if  opportu- 
nity is  given  to  be  beneficial  to  it.  We  despise  a  little 
one,  when  we  inconsiderately  utter  sentiments  to  it  or  be- 
fore it  which  are  injurious  or  corrupting.  We  despise 
a  little  one,  when  we  sufi*er  our  passions  to  run  riot  in 
its  presence,  or  give  ourselves  up  to  the  free  indulgence 
of  vicious  and  debasing  inclinations.  The  child  is  an 
imitative  being,  and  has  an  instinctive  reverence  for 
grown  persons.  Men  and  women  are  its  models,  and 
its  efforts  run  strongly  in  the  line  of  an  attempt  to  be 
what  they  are  and  to  do  what  they  do.  And  this  pro- 
cess of  incidental  education  begins  very  early;  none 
can  tell  just  how  early ;  all  observing  persons  agree 
early,  earlier  far,  there  is  much  reason  to  believe,  than 
men  who  do  not  consider,  suppose.  It  is  not  incredible, 
that  a  bent  may  be  given  to  a  child,  which  shall  tell 
upon  it  all  its  lifetime  for  good  or  for  evil,  before  it 
is  out  of  its  mother's  arms ;  and  the  surroundings  of  an 
infant's  cradle  may  not  be  unimportant  to  its  final 
destiny.    Its  tastes  and  its  ways  oftentimes  originate  in 


144  SERMON  XII. 

circumstances  so  far  back,  tliat  they  are  overlooked  in  its 
history.  How  important  then,  to  a  child's  welfare  are 
the  objects  and  events  that  are  around  it  from  its  be- 
ginning, the  sights  it  sees,  the  sounds  it  hears,  the  forms 
of  life  it  witnesses,  the  persons,  the  habits,  the  scenes, 
it  is  conversant  with.  And  all  the  value  that  attaches 
to  a  child,  as  the  possessor  of  an  intellectual  and  spi- 
ritual nature,  and  an  heir  of  immortality^  passes  over 
to  the  influences  which  surround  and  operate  upon  it, 
to  mould  or  mar  it,  into  "an  eternal  excellency,"  or  an 
endless  wretchedness. 

Despise  not  little  ones  by  neglecting  to  bring  them 
to  Christ.  Christ  has  said,  "Suffer  the  little  children 
to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not ;  for  of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven."  The  doors  of  his  church  are 
open  for  their  admission,  that  therein  they  may  be  en- 
grafted into  his  body,  and  receive  that  grace,  by  which, 
duly  improved,  they  may  be  made  heirs  of  salvation. 
If  we  will  have  Christ's  blessing,  we  must  seek  it  in 
his  appointed  way.  Oh !  how  greatly  do  they  wrong 
their  children,  how  little  do  they  treat  them  as  spiri- 
tual and  immortal  creatures,  who  do  not  bring  them 
to  Christ,  that  Christ,  who  suffers  them  to  come  to 
him  at  the  very  dawn  of  their  being,  that  they  may  go 
forth  into  the  world,  shielded  by  his  blessing,  and  re- 
strained and  led  by  his  gracious  Spirit. 

They  despise  little  ones,  who  neglect  to  care  for  their 
religious  training  and  nurture.  Their  coming  to  Christ 
in  Baptism,  great  as  the  privilege  is,  and  real  and  cer- 
tain as  is  the  grace  it  bestows,  is  not  saving,  unless  they 
are  trained  up  into  the  way  wherein  they  should  go. 


THE  REVERENCE  OF  CHILDHOOD.  145 

What  numbers  of  baptized  children  fail  to  receive  the 
treatment  which  befits  "members  of  Christ,"  and  reci- 
pients of  the  grace  of  Christ,  as  though  Christ  were 
to  do  all  without  men,  or  had  done  nothing  on  which 
men  might  build  the  hope  of  success  in  doing !  And 
how  many  children,  growing  up  among  Christians 
in  neglect  and  ignorance,  will  carry  back  at  last  the 
report  to  their  and  our  great  Judge,  "  No  man  cared 
for  my  soul! "  Ah,  brethren,  by  your  firesides,  teach 
with  line  upon  line,  those  whom  God  hath  committed 
to  your  charge,  and  bring  them,  and  the  children  of 
the  poor  to  the  house  of  God,  and  within  the  reach  of 
Christian  instruction,  and  God,  who  made  them  immor- 
tal, will  give  you  an  immortal  reward. 

Finally,  never  think  lightly  of  a  child,  never  con- 
sider it  of  small  importance,  how  you  treat  it,  what 
you  do  or  say  before  it.  Remember  rather,  that  it  is  one 
of  the  most  susceptible  and  retentive  beings  in  the  uni- 
verse, that  it  is  taking  a  form,  and  that  you,  by  all  you 
say  or  do  in  its  presence,  are  contributing  to  determine 
that  form;  that  this  form  it  will  keep  for  ever,  a  source 
of  infinite  joy  or  wo  to  itself,  an  instrumentality  of  in- 
finite benefit  or  mischief  to  others. 


13* 


1^6  SERMON  XIII. 


SERMON   XIII. 

OUR  CALLING. 

Let  every  man  abide  in  the  same  calling  wherein  he  was  called.  . 
1  CoK.  VII.  20. 

The  calling,  in  which  we  are  here  directed  to  abide, 
is  "  that  state  of  life  into  which  it  hath  pleased  God  to 
call  us,"  our  place  in  the  world,  our  business,  occupa- 
tion, position  among  men.  This  calling  comes  to  us 
through  the  disposition  of  Providence,  and  the  ope- 
ration of  providential  influences  which  God  creates  and 
employs.  Hence  our  worldly  calling  is  of  God ;  God's 
voice  and  will  speak  in  it.  We  are  the  subjects  of 
two  callings.  There  is  our  ^'  high  calling  of  God  in 
Christ  Jesus."  That  is  the  calling  of  Grace.  And 
there  is  our  outward  situation  in  life,  the  particular 
department  of  human  action,  in  which  God  calls  us  to 
employ  our  faculties.  That  is  the  calling  of  Provi- 
dence. In  the  text  both  these  callings  are  mentioned, 
our  temporal  and  our  spiritual  calling;  and  we  are  di- 
rected to  abide  in  the  same  temporal  calling,  wherein 
we  may  be,  when  we  are  spiritually  called.  And  the 
simple  meaning  is,  that  our  becoming  religious  does 
not  alter  our  worldly  position  and  business,  nor  call 
for  its  abandonment,  unless  it  be  intrinsically  sinful. 
Yet,  that  this  precept  is  not  absolute  and  unconditional, 
the  context  shows — "Art  thou  called  being  a  servant? 


OUR  CALLING.  147 

care  not  for  it ;  but  if  thou  majest  be  made  free,  use 
it  rather."  A  Christian  man  is  not  then  forbidden  to 
change  his  outward  condition,  if  he  can,  and  may 
change  it  with  advantage;  but  his  becoming  a  Chris- 
tian effects  no  such  change  by  its  own  force ;  and  so  far 
from  rendering  him  uneasy  and  dissatisfied,  it  should 
tend  to  make  him  more  contented,  faithful  and  pa- 
tient in  his  lot,  even  though,  as  the  case  instanced  in 
the  context  indicates,  that  lot  be  slavery. 

A  Christian  man  is  not  to  murmur  or  be  fretful  and 
restless  in  that  situation  which  the  providence  of  God 
has  assigned  to  him,  but  to  be  patient,  quiet,  submis- 
sive and  cheerful  in  it.  Still,  an  advantageous  change 
he  may  properly  welcome,  and  even  seek,  so  it  be  not 
in  a  rebellious  spirit,  and  in  contempt  and  desertion 
of  present  duties. 

Grace,  when  it  takes  possession  of  a  man,  does  not 
alter  his  place  in  society,  nor  annul  the  obligations 
that  pertain  to  it,  unless  it  be  intrinsically  wrong  and 
sinful,  requiring  of  him  a  course  of  action  which  is 
immoral  and  injurious.  If  that  be  its  character,  it  is 
the  devil's  calling  and  not  God's,  and  we  cannot  too 
promptly  abandon  it  at  whatever  sacrifice;  for  un- 
less we  do  so,  we  show  that  we  are  not  effectually  "  de- 
livered from  the  power  of  darkness,  and  translated 
into  the  kingdom  of  God's  dear  Son."  We  owe  the 
devil's  behests  no  obedience ;  but  we  do  owe  them  a 
sturdy  defiance.  All  lawful  temporal  callings  Chris- 
tianity encircles  in  its  embrace,  and  tells  its  disciples, 
in  whatever  temporal  calling  grace  finds  them,  when  it 
calls  them  into  God's  service,  therein  to  abide,  in  the 


148  SERMON  XIII. 

faithful  and  patient  discharge  of  its  duties,  till  God, 
if  it  ever  pleases  him  to  do  so,  shall  raise  them  to  a 
higher  station  and  a  more  congenial  service.  And 
yet  this  they  are  not  forbidden  humbly  to  desire, 
modestly  to  seek,  and  gladly  to  welcome.  A  few 
verses  beyond  the  text,  the  Apostle  says,  "Let  every 
man,  wherein  he  is  called,  therein  abide  with  God." 
And  this  assures  us,  that  while  we  thus  wait  and  labour 
in  our  calling,  we  may  have  God  with  us  to  help  and 
comfort  us,  if  wfe  will  walk  with  him  in  it,  therein 
abiding  in  the  recollection,  fear  and  service  of  God. 
And  thus,  as  our  worldly  calling  is  of  God,  so  is  God 
with  us  in  it,  to  make  it  sweet  and  comfortable  to  us, 
if  we  will  only  be  in  it  with  him,  trusting  in  him, 
obeying  him,  and  seeking  his  glory. 

Now,  what  I  wish  to  impress  upon  you  is,  that  our 
temporal  condition,  with  that  peculiar  form  of  life 
which  it  imposes,  is  a  calling,  and  is  such,  because 
God  has  called  us  into  it.  I  would  remind  you,  that 
the  fashion  of  our  existence  in  this  world  is  not  an 
accident,  not  the  fruit  of  chance,  nor  of  our  own  will, 
nor  of  the  will  of  other  men.  God  has  assigned  us 
our  place.  God  has  set  us  our  task.  Whether  we 
shall  work  with  our  brains  or  our  hands,  and  in  which 
of  the  various  departments  of  human  activity  that  be- 
long to  either,  he  has  determined.  The  word  calling, 
often  so  flippantly  and  unthinkingly  used  by  us,  is  it- 
self a  memorial  of  that  solemn  fact,  which  has  thus 
permanently  stamped  its  mark  upon  the  language  of 
men,  and  imbedded  itself  in  the  very  substance  of  their 
diction ;  and  thus,  this  solemn  fact,  embalmed  in  speech, 


OUR  CALLING.  149 

on  the  tongues  of  men  outlives  too  often  the  correspon- 
dent sentiment  in  their  hearts  For,  however  lightly 
and  atheistically  men  may  speak  of  their  calling,  the 
word  itself,  on  their  thoughtless  lips,  is  never  light  nor 
atheistic,  but  one  that  is  a  witness  for  God,  and  for 
that  overruling  providence  of  his,  which  ordereth  all 
things  in  heaven  and  earth.  Yes,  calling  is  a  reli- 
gious and  holy  word,  that  testifies  to  men  against 
themselves,  reminding  them  ever  of  their  duty,  and  re- 
proving always  their  restlessness  and  unfaithfulness. 
"  How  important,*  indeed,  is  the  truth  which  we  ex- 
press in  the  naming  our  work  in  this  world  our  voca- 
tion, or  which  is  the  same,  finding  utterance  in  homelier 
Anglo-Saxon,  our  calling.  What  a  calming,  elevating, 
solemnizing  view  of  the  tasks  which  we  find  ourselves 
set  in  this  world  to  do,  this  word  would  give  us,  if  we 
did  but  realize  it  to  the  full.  We  did  not  come  to  our 
work  by  accident ;  we  did  not  choose  it  for  ourselves ; 
but,  under  much  which  may  wear  the  appearance  of 
accident  and  self-choosing,  came  to  it  by  God's  lead- 
ing and  appointment.  What  a  help  is  this  thought  to 
enable  us  to  appreciate  justly  the  dignity  of  our  work, 
though  it  were  far  humbler  work,  even  in  the  eyes  of 
men,  than  that  of  any  one  of  us  present !  What  an 
assistance  in  calming  unsettled  thoughts  and  desires, 
such  as  would  make  us  wish  to  be  something  else  than 
that  which  we  are!  What  a  source  of  confidence, 
when  we  are  tempted  to  lose  heart,  and  to  doubt 
whether  we  shall  be  able  to  carry  through  our  work 
with  any  blessing  or  profit  to  ourselves  or  others !     It 

*  Trench  on  the  Study  of  Words. 


150  SERMON  xiir. 

is  our  vocation,  our  calling ;  and  He  who  called  us  to 
it  will  fit  us  for  it,  and  strengthen  us  in  it." 

That  the  circumstances,  which  frame  our  outward 
condition  into  its  actual  fashion,  are  of  God's  ordering, 
none  will  doubt,  who  believe  in  the  presence  and 
agency  of  God  in  the  affairs  of  the  world.  Our  parent- 
age, the  period  of  our  birth,  the  associations  of  our  child- 
hood, the  events  that  betide  us  in  our  early  days,  the  in- 
fluences that  act  upon  us  as  we  advance  to  manhood,  all 
the  causes  that  co-operate  to  fasten  upon  our  life  the 
form  it  finally  and  permanently  assumes,  that  deter- 
mine what  place  we  shall  fill  in  the  social  scale,  and 
what  we  shall  spend  our  days  in  doing,  are  of  God's 
ordering  and  fixing.  He  selects  and  combines  them, 
and  he  deduces  the  issue.  "We  are  the  clay,  and  he 
our  potter."  And  if  we  will  look  back  to  the  history 
of  our  own  thoughts,  and  study  the  workings  of  our 
minds,  such  as  they  were,  when  once  we  stood  upon 
the  verge  of  life's  broad  arena,  and  surveyed  with 
anxious  and  timid  eyes  the  various  paths  and  fields  it 
presented  to  view,  seeking  with  such  choice  as  the 
stern  compulsion  of  circumstances  left  open  to  us,  to 
select  our  path  of  pilgrimage  and  field  of  toil,  gladly 
embracing  this  opportunity,  sadly  acquiescing  in  this 
necessity,  shall  we  not  feel  that  there  was  on  us  a 
hand  of  power,  that  first,  created  in  us  the  tastes,  as- 
pirations, inclinations,  qualities,  capacities,  all  that 
we  mean  by  the  bent  of  the  man,  and  then,  brought 
around  us  the  inexorable  and  despotic  outward  facts, 
which  hedged  in,  limited  and  controlled  its  action; 
till   finally,  through  the   mutual    counteraction    and 


OUR  CALLING.  151 

yielding  of  the  inward  and  outward,  meting  out  to  us 
so  much  of  suppression  and  so  much  of  indulgence,  a 
restraint  here  and  a  liberty  there,  the  nature  of  God's 
making,  and  the  thought  of  God's  inspiring,  working 
amidst  influences  and  circumstances  of  God's  pro- 
ducing, at  last  wrought  themselves  out  into  a  calling, 
that  station  and  work,  which  are  to  be  regarded  as  the 
will  of  God  concerning  us,  as  constituting  that  state 
of  life  into  which  it  hath  pleased  God  to  call  us. 

Men  are  wont  to  say,  that  the  ofiice  and  work  of  a 
minister,  if  rightly  undertaken,  is  the  fruit  of  a  special 
divine   call.     And  accordingly,  the  Church,  when  she 
is  about  to  admit  a  man  to  the  ministry,  asks  him,  and 
exacts  an  affirmative  answer,  whether  he  thinks  that 
he   is  inwardly  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost  to   take 
upon  him  that  sacred  office.     And  this  is  unquestiona- 
bly a  just  view.     But  think  you,  dear  brethren,  that  I 
am  called  to  my  work,  and  you  are  not  equally  called 
to  yours?     I  trow  not.     The  calling  of  a  man  to  be  a 
minister  has  only  a  little  more  of  solemnity  and  spe- 
cialty and  sacredness  of  object;  but  it  is  not  more 
real  or  divine  than  the  calling  of  a  man  to  be  any 
thing  else.     And  if  men  would  but  think  of  this,  there 
would  be  less  levity  and  negligence  and  complaining 
among  men  in  respect  to  their  place  and  work.     Think 
you,  that  if  God  has  assigned  you  your  place  and  work, 
as  truly  as  mine  to  me,  you  have  more  right  and  free- 
dom to  disesteem  and  slight  and  despise  your  occu- 
pation, than  I  mine?     I  know  not  where  you  got  it. 
A  wicked,  slothful,  discontented  trader  or  artisan  is  as 
certainly  an  oiTender,  as  a  wicked,  slothful,  discontented, 
minister.     There  was   a  time  when  each  one  of  us 


152  SERMON  XIII. 

selected  his  employment,  not  just  that,  in  most  in- 
stances, which  our  bent  would  have  dictated,  but  the 
nearest  to  it,  that  the  force  of  facts  and  events,  wholly 
beyond  our  control,  left  open  to  us.  God  had  created 
a  fitness  for  a  certain  place  by  our  natural  constitu- 
tion and  antecedent  training.  God  had  awakened 
a  desire  for  it  in  our  hearts  by  influences  directed 
upon  them  for  the  purpose.  God  had  arranged  the 
circumstances  that  hemmed  in,  narrowed  and  bent 
aside  our  liberty  of  action.  We  came  to  be  what  we 
are ;  and  this  is  our  calling.  It  is  the  echo  of  God's 
voice,  the  fulfilment  of  God's  determination.  And 
thus  is  every  place  in'  a  rightly  ordered  commu- 
nity duly  supplied;  and  each  in  his  place,  the  me- 
chanic, the  tradesman,  the  lawyer,  the  physician,  the 
soldier,  as  truly  as  the  minister,  sees  himself,  if  he 
looks  on  his  place  with  enlightened  and  religious  eyes, 
divinely  designated  to  it,  and  brought  into  it.  And  thus 
the  whole  sum  of  society,  in  all  its  complicated  frame- 
work, its  mutual  relations  and  dependences,  its  ne- 
cessary gradations  and  shares  of  honour  and  advan- 
tage, will  appear  to  be  a  visible  outgoing  of  the  divine 
will,  instinct  throughout  with  a  divine  presence,  a 
divine  authority,  and  a  divine  blessing;  and  every 
member  of  the  same,  in  his  own  proper  station  and 
work,  his  special  "vocation  and  ministry,"  believing 
God  made  his  place  for  him  and  him  for  his  place,  will 
be  enabled  to  walk  in  it  with  God,  without  pride  in 
elevation,  with  self-respect  in  inferiority,  in  a  spirit  of 
cheerful  submission,  conscientious  fidelity,  and  lowly 
hope. 


OUR  CALLING.  153 

What  we  contend  for,  is,  that  every  Christian  should 
believe  himself  called  to  every  work  in  which  he  finds 
his  occupation  and  his  livelihood;  and  that,  except  he 
believes  this,  the  work  of  life,  whatever  it  may  be  out- 
wardly, will  be  unholy  and  cheerless,  lack  its  best 
stimulus  and  its  purest  support  and  comfort,  and  be 
pursued  without  confidence  in  God,  or  any  expecta- 
tion of  high  and  worthy  fruit.  Only,  if  there  be  any 
place  in  society,  whose  occupant  escapes  work  and 
lives  in  idleness,  though  he  may  think  himself  happy 
in  it,  we  must  tell  him,  that  either  his  calling  is  not  of 
God  but  of  the  devil,  or  else  it  is  some  calling  of  God,  of 
which  the  devil  has  gained  surreptitious  and  unlawful 
possession.  For,  the  rich  man,  who  is  exempt  from 
the  necessity  of  relying  on  some  trade  or  profession 
for  a  living,  is  not  so  exempt,  in  order  that  he  may  be 
an  idler,  and  spend  his  days  in  an  inglorious  and  un- 
profitable ease.  He  also  has  a  calling,  and  a  calling 
has  always  a  work,  and  the  work  of  his  calling  is  by 
no  means  the  least  arduous  and  difficult;  and  if,  be- 
cause he  is  not  driven  to  it  by  the  stern  pressure  of 
necessity,  he  leaves  it  undone,  and  dies  a  mere  loiterer 
and  cumberer  of  the  ground,  his  will  be  the  fearful 
reckoning  of  one,  who  wrapped  not  one  but  many  ta- 
lents in  a  napkin  and  hid  them  in  the  earth.  While 
he,  whose  place  is  given  him  at  the  base  of  the  social 
system,  will  feel  this  divine  element  in  society  stealing 
down  to  him  with  a  refreshing  influence,  to  sooth  his 
troubles,  and  make  smooth  the  rugged  ways  to  his 
feet,  while  it  assures  him,  that  as  he  too  stands  in  his 
lot  by  the  will  of  God,  so  he  is  doing  divine  work  as 
14 


154  SERMON  XIII. 

well  as  his  fellows,  a  work,  that,  whatever  be  its  aspect 
and  estimation,  is  redeemed  from  all  real  meanness 
and  disgrace  by  that  fact;  and  that  God  will  sweeten 
it  to  him,  if  he  is  faithful  in  it,  with  his  blessing,  and 
crown  it,  at  its  end,  with  life  for  evermore. 

This   view   of    our   work    as    a    calling    communi- 
cates dignity  and  comfort   to  life,  and   this    not   in 
some  of  its  ranges,  but   in  all  of   them.     The  pre- 
cious ointment  on  the  head  goes  down  to  the  skirts 
of  the  garments.     There  is  no  valley  in  life  so  low, 
that  the  dew  of  divine  service  does  not  visit   and  re- 
fresh it.     The  honour  of  the  noble  head  pervades  the 
family,  stops  not  at  the  favourite  of  the  lord,  or  chief 
officer  of  the  household,  but  goes  on  till  it  reaches  the 
bottom  of  the   social  fabric;  and  the   lowest  menial 
shines  in  the  reflected  lustre  of  his  Master.     And  if, 
to  the  lowly  position  belongs   a  goodness  which  the 
higher  wants,  why  then,  to  it  attaches  the  moral,  and 
that  is  a  real,  superiority,  an  intrinsic  is  added  to  this 
relative  nobleness ;  and  thus  the  humblest  place  in  life 
is  thoroughly  redeemed  from  all  meanness  and  degra- 
dation.    It  is  said  that  no  part  of  a  family  feels  its 
consequence  more  strongly  than  its  slaves ;   and  that 
none  is  prouder  of  his  situation  than  the  servant  of  a 
great  man.    And  surely,  then,  there  can  be  no  debase- 
ment in  filling  any  station,  which  God  has  created  and 
assigned  to  us.     It  is  an  honour  to   serve  him  in  any 
place.     If  we  learn  to  look  upon  the  various  stations 
in  life,  as  only  a  divine   distribution  of  the  parts  of 
God's  service  among  his   servants,  a  thing  throughout 
SD  excellent  and  illustrious,  that  it  is  a  privilege  and  an 


OUR  CALLING.  155 

enviable  distinction  to   obtain  the  lowest  share  in  it, 


we  shall  never  look  upon  our  own  station  as  disgrace- 
ful and  degrading,  whatever  it  may  be. 

It  is  looking  upon  our  lot  in  life  apart  from  God, 
viewing  ourselves  as  the  sport  of  a  blind  chance,  or 
the  victim -of  human  tyranny,  caprice  or  injustice, 
that  makes  us  despise  and  scorn  it,  view  it  with  a  bit- 
ter contempt  and  an  indignant  hatred.  Only  let  us 
look  at  it  as  our  calling,  the  utterance  of  God's  will, 
and  the  appointment  of  God's  wisdom,  and  we  shall 
respect  it,  and  ourselves  in  it;  for  we  shall  see,  that 
we  are  parts  of  a  system,  in  which,  it  is  an  honour  to 
hold  any  position,  of  a  mechanism  so  glorious,  that  the 
cog  of  the  smallest  wheel,  or  the  cord  of  the  obscurest 
pulley,  that  is  needful  to  its  well-being  and  well-work- 
ing, is  honoured  by  its  function ;  and,  doing  a  work 
which  is  as  necessary  to  the  great  result  as  that  which 
is  accomplished  by  things  of  greater  magnitude  and 
show,  it  is  as  truly  honourable  as  they,  and  as  justly 
entitled  to  an  intelligent  appreciation  and  regard. 
Nothing  has  so  elevating  an  influence  on  men  as  to  feel 
that  they  are  members  of  a  divine  economy,  in  which 
honour  depends  not  upon  place,  but  upon  faithfulness ; 
so  that  some  who  are  far  down  in  it,  may  be  higher  in 
the  estimation  of  Him,  whose  judgment  is  its  only  rule 
of  eminence,  than  many  that  are  outwardly  above  them, 
as  sweet  violets  lie  low  and  nestle  in  the  sod,  overhung 
and  hidden  by  tall,  thrifty,  but  idle  weeds,  and  gaudy, 
but  scentless  blossoms.  ''I  had  rather  be  a  door- 
keeper in  the  house  of  my  God,  than  to  dwell  in  the 
tents  of  ungodliness."     And  he,  into  whose  heart  this 


156  SERMON  XIII. 

conviction  enters,  and  becomes  practical,  has  sucli  a 
balm  for  the  woes  of  life,  as  none  other  knows.  Po- 
verty, obscurity,  toil,  neglect,  contumely,  may  cleave 
to  his  condition,  but  God  honours  him,  an  eye  of  com- 
mendation and  encouragement  guides  and  guards  his 
steps;  and  there  is  always  in  his  heart  the  sweet 
whisper  of  ''He  that  is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least 
is  faithful  also  in  much,"  pledge  of  a  fast  coming, 
"Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant;  thou  hast  been 
faithful  over  few  things;  I  will  make  thee  ruler  over 
many  things:  enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord." 

But  if  this  view  of  the  work  of  life  as  a  calling  con- 
fers on  life  a  dignity,  that  relieves  and  gladdens  it, 
so  does  it  also  load  it  with  a  weight  of  responsibility, 
which  communicates  to  it  a  tincture  of  seriousness  and 
solemnity.  Seeing  that  all  stations  are  of  God,  it  is 
indeed  a  grave  and  awful  thing  to  live  in  any  station. 
That  station,  whatever  it  may  be,  whatever  relations 
it  may  involve,  is  God's  appointment  for  us,  and  indi- 
cates to  us  his  particular  will  concerning  us.  It  ren- 
ders our  duty  specific,  circumscribes  and  fixes  it.  AYe 
are  not  to  think  ourselves  above  it.  "We  are  not  to 
neglect  it,  or  do  it  carelessly.  "VYe  are  not  to  substi- 
tute any  other  work  for  it,  or  give  any  other  work  the 
preference  to  it.  "\Ye  may  not  put  it  aside,  to  attend 
to  anything  else,  that  better  pleases  our  fancy,  or  more 
gratifies  our  pride.  It  will  not  answer  for  us  to  do 
another  man's  work,  however  well  we  think  we  can  do 
it,  or  can  do  it  actually.  We  are  to  do  our  own  work ; 
that  God  requires  of  us,  and  he  will  not  take  any 
thing  from  us  in  its  stead.     No  morality,  nor  zeal,  nor 


OUR  CALLING.  157 

laboriousness  will  compensate  for  unfaithfulness  in  tlic 
business  of  our  place.     God  does  not  ask  at  our  hands 
volunteer  services,  but  prescribed    and  ordered  ser- 
vices; and  if  in  the  final  reckoning  we  undertake  to 
recite  our  performances  of  the  former  kind,  we  shall 
be  cut  short  with  the  inquiry,  Who  hath  required  this 
at  your  hand?  how  did  you  fill  your  station?     A  sol- 
dier, who  is  appointed  to  stand  sentry,  will  not  escape 
censure,  if  he   has  left   his  post  to  reconnoitre  the 
enemy's  camp,  or  capture   a  solitary  straggler.     Nor 
will  a  farmer  be  satisfied  with  his  servant,  who  leaves 
his  field  unplowed,  to  instruct  his  neighbour  in  agri- 
cultural science.      Wives  and   mothers,  who   forsake 
their  place  in  domestic  life,  to  undertake  the  reforma- 
tion of  society,  and  neglect  duties  to  vindicate  rights, 
are  not  serving  God ;  nor  are  men  who  desert   their 
business  to  become  exhorters,  and  enlighten  their  fel- 
low men  in  morals  and  religion.     When  every  man 
does  his.  own  work,  the  specific  service  of  his  place, 
then  is  the  welfare  of  society  most   advanced,  God's 
will  best  done,  the  Gospel  best  recommended,   and 
the  souls  of  men  best  fitted  for  eternal  life.     Let   us 
then  learn    to  look  upon  the    work  of   our   station, 
whatever  it  may  be,  as  our  calling,  and  hear  ever  in 
our  ears,  God's  voice  in  it,  saying  to  us.  Here  work, 
and  here  be  faithful,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of 
life. 


14* 


158  SERMON  XIV. 


SEEMON  XIY. 

THE   HIDDEN    LIFE. 

For  ye  are  dead,  and  your  life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God.  When 
Christ,  -who  is  our  life,  shall  appear,  then  shall  ye  also  appear 
■with  him  in  glory. — Colossiaxs  hi.  3,  4. 

Death  does  not  destroy  human  life  but  secretes  it, 
removes  it  from  the  sphere  in  which  mortals  dwell,  and 
shuts  it  away  from  their  notice  and  observation.  Hence- 
forth, it  is  a  hidden  life,  concealed  from  the  eyes  of 
living  men  by  a  veil,  which  is  so  thick  and  impervious, 
that  all  attempts  to  penetrate  the  regions  which  it  en- 
closes and  covers  are  utterly  futile  and  unsuccessful. 
The  land  of  the  dead  is  Hades,  the  unseen,  the  invisible. 
There  is  an  analogous  spiritual  operation,  of  which  the 
text  speaks  in  terms  and  images  drawn  from  this. 
And  indeed  the  two  are  not  utterly  disconnected ;  for 
that  spiritual  concealment  in  which  the  believer  lives 
on  earth,  and  that  physical  hidinginto  which  he  enters 
at  death,  shall  be  ended  together ;  and  one  resurrection 
bring  his  spiritual  and  his  natural  life  simultaneously 
to  light,  when  Christ  who  is  his  life  shall  appear,  and 
he  appear  with  him  in  glory. 

There  is  an  important  sense  in  which  the  life  of  man 
under  the  influence  of  divine  grace  may  be  said  to  be 
hidden,  that  is,  removed  from  the  sphere  in  which  he 
visibly  exists  while  he  is  yet  a  dweller  upon  earth,  to 


I 


THE  HIDDEN  LIFE.  159 

have  passed  away  from  the  observation  and  notice  of 
his  fellow  men,  and  become  a  hidden  life.  To  the 
world,  henceforth,  it  is  a  secret  and  a  mystery,  an  object 
of  curiosity  or  of  unbelief,  never  rightly  understood 
and  appreciated.  "Behold!"  says  St.  John,  "what 
manner  of  love  the  Father  hath  bestowed  upon  us,  that 
we  should  be  called  the  sons  of  God !  Therefore  the 
world  knoweth  us  not,  because  it  knew  him  not."  The 
life  of  a  true  Christian  is  an  incomprehensible  thing 
to  a  worldling.  It  has  passed  out  of  the  sphere  which 
he  inhabits,  and  is  not  open  to  his  inspection  and  exa- 
mination. He  has  no  access  to  it  to  watch  and  study 
it,  and  no  answering  experience  out  of  which  to  inter- 
pret its  apparent  phenomena.  It  of  necessity  remains 
to  him  an  enigma,  dwelling  in  an  inapproachable  seclu- 
sion, whose  secrecy  remains  inviolable,  "  a  spring  shut 
up,  a  fountain  sealed."  He  sees  but  its  shell— the 
circumstances  that  outwardly  environ  it,  and  some  of 
its  lower  actings  and  expressions  in  view  of  them.  But 
these  let  him  not  far  into  the  nature  and  mode  of  its 
inward  being. 

To  express  this  great  change,  by  which  the  life  of  a 
man's  spirit,  while  he  yet  dwells  on  earth,  may  thus,  in 
a  most  important  and  real  sense,  be  transferred  to  a 
new  and  unseen  sphere,  and  become  a  hidden  life  to 
his  fellows,  the  text  borrows  the  imagery  of  natural 
death,  and  speaks  of  the  subject  of  it  as  one  who  has 
ceased  to  be,  in  reference  to  a  state  from  which  he  has 
passed  away,  and  the  objects  and  pursuits  which  per- 
tain to  it,  and  has  entered  into  a  new  condition  of  ex- 
istence, of  which  his  former  companions  have  no  per- 


160  SERMON  XIV. 

ceptlon  or  cognizance.  The  image  is  very  strong  and 
vigorous.  "Ye  are  dead,"  the  apostle  boldly  says  to 
the  Christian.  But  what  then?  Have  you  in  conse- 
quence no  longer  a  life  ?  Not  at  all.  Death,  to  a  religious 
mind,  never  suggests  any  such  idea.  Death  is  but  an 
event  in  life,  an  epoch  in  the  historic  development  of 
immortality.  As  then  death,  in  the  literal,  natural 
sense,  is  but  the  exaltation  of  life,  by  a  process  of  ap- 
parent interruption,  to  a  higher  style  and  method,  so 
here,  in  its  metaphorical  and  spiritual  sense,  it  is  but  the 
transfer  of  it,  upon  an  apparent  cessation,  to  a  different 
circle  of  action  and  communication,  and  that,  one  far 
purer  and  more  glorious.  Henceforth  it  is  a  life  "  hid 
with  Christ  in  God."  Christ  has  gone  up  to  God,  and, 
as  to  the  visibility  of  his  presence,  removed  from  that 
sphere  in  which  living  mortals  dwell.  So  it  has  gone 
up  to  God  with  him,  and  dwells  where  he  does,  finding 
in  God  its  object,  support  and  pleasure.  Like  him,  it 
has  undergone  an  obscuration,  not  an  extinction.  And 
like  him,  an  emergence  and  manifestation  await  it. 
He  shall  appear  again,  and  it  shall  appear  with  him. 
One  hour  shall  disclose  both ;  and  when  he  shall  come 
again  "a  second  time  without  sin  unto  salvation,"  that 
divine  life,  which,  in  all  his  true  followers,  begun  on 
earth,  made  them  on  earth  of  heaven,  hidden  from 
mortal  eyes,  even  before  the  earthly  tabernacle,  in  which 
it  tarried  for  a  time,  passed  away  from  sight,  shall  come 
forth  to  view,  and  show  to  all  observers  its  real  nature? 
excellence  and  glory.  ^'  Then  shall  the  righteous  shine 
forth  as  the  sun  in  the  kingdom  of  their  Father." 
In  order  to  feel  the  force  and  propriety  of  the  image, 


THE  HIDDEN  LIFE.  161 

we  must  consider  what  living  is,  and  what  dying  is,  to  a 
man,  in  reference  to  objects  out  of  himself.  A  man's 
life,  in  the  most  emphatic  sense,  is,  where  the  objects 
are  that  occupy  his  attention,  fill  his  thoughts,  engage 
his  affections,  call  forth  his  energies.  A  man's  life 
may  thus,  in  a  most  true  and  solemn  sense,  be  more  in 
another  sphere,  than  in  that  which  his  person  visibly 
inhabits.  We  speak  of  a  man,  whose  conduct  indicates 
that  his  soul  is  not  employed  about  objects  around 
him,  but  on  others,  which  for  the  time  have  usurped 
their  place  and  diverted  his  attention  from  them,  as 
absent.  We  mean  that  the  principal  actings  of  his 
life  are  not  where  its  apparent  seat  is,  that  the  man  is, 
where  he  is  thinking,  and  not  where  he  is  breathing. 
And  the  wonderful  power  of  the  soul  thus  to  abstract 
itself  from  surrounding  objects,  even  to  the  extent  of 
becoming  unconscious  of  them,  and  to  concentrate  it- 
self upon  things  remote  and  invisible,  is  taken  as  no 
mean  proof  of  its  immateriality  and  immortality. 

There  may  be  something  like  a  permanent  divorce 
of  the  soul  from  a  set  of  objects  which  environ  its  local 
being;  and  there  is  such,  when  a  set  of  objects  more 
remote  takes  possession  of  it  with  such  a  force  as  to 
throw  them  down  into  a  state  of  insignificancy  and  un- 
importance. If  his  life  is,  where  those  things  are  that 
most  engage  and  affect  him,  then,  when  such  a  transfer 
takes  place,  his  life  as  to  the  one  set  of  things  ceases, 
and  as  to  the  other  set  of  things  begins :  to  the  one  he 
dies,  to  the  other  he  is  born.  And  though  to  the  for- 
mer he  still  continues  to  pay  some  inferior  measure  of 
regard,  yet  this,  comparatively,  may  well  be  thrown  out 


162  SERMON  XIV. 

of  tlie  account,  and  his  life  be  regarded  as  comprised 
within  the  limits  of  those  objects  which  have  gained 
such  a  mastery  over  him,  that  all  else  is  to  him,  in  com- 
parison, as  "less  than  nothing  and  vanity." 

Ye  are  dead,  says  the  apostle.  Ye  have  died.  Ye 
were  alive  once,  but  ye  are  not  so  now.  There  was  a 
time  when  the  present  world  was  the  sphere,  in  which 
your  life  expended  its  powers,  and  on  whose  objects  its 
energies  were  lavished.  You  felt  yourself  circum- 
scribed within  it.  Its  good  was  the  good  you  sought. 
To  it  you  looked  for  the  sources  of  your  happiness.  On 
it  you  fastened  your  hopes.  Your  thoughts  revolved 
within  its  precincts.  On  it  your  life  fed,  and  to  it  your 
life  was  given.  And  thus  to  your  life  it  gave  the  im- 
press of  itself,  made  it  the  reflection  of  its  own  image, 
instinct  every  where  with  its  spirit,  fashioned  every  where 
with  its  forms.  Yours  was  a  worldly  life.  Your  life  cor- 
responded to  the  visible  sphere  it  occupied ;  and  thus  was 
a  thing  which  all  within  that  sphere  could  perceive, 
comprehend,  appreciate,  measure.  That  life  has  ceased ; 
another  has  taken  its  place.  Your  sphere  has  ex- 
panded, and  so  expanded,  that  that  which  was  lately 
your  all,  is  now  a  trifle,  and  receives  a  small  part 
only  of  your  care  and  eff'ort.  You  have  learned  to 
look  upon  the  things  that  are  not  seen,  and  live  for 
them.  A  set  of  objects  have  been  revealed  to  you, 
which,  as  they  are  of  transcendent  importance,  have 
attracted  to  themselves  your  chief  regard.  Now  the 
men  about  you  take  no  cognizance  of  these  things. 
They  continue  to  see  only  that  part  of  your  life,  which 
is  not  expended  upon  them,  which,  in  comparison  with 
the  nobler  life  you  are  leading,  is  indeed  no  life  at 


THE  HIDDEN  LIFE.  163 

all,  a  mere  extinct  and  deserted  life.  That  wliich  is 
your  life  is  utterly  unknown  to  them,  does  not  fall 
"within  the  compass  of  their  observation  or  compre- 
hension. It  is  a  hidden  life.  They  do  not  see  its 
sphere  nor  its  actings.  It  is  the  office  of  death  to 
render  life  invisible.  It  is  so  w^ith  natural  death. 
The  life  of  those  who  have  died  is  not  extinguished, 
but  has  passed  into  a  condition  of  secrecy  and  conceal- 
ment. The  living  know  that  it  is,  but  they  cannot 
find  it.  There  are  no  signs  of  it  in  the  statue-like 
corpse.  In  vain  we  hunt  for  it  in  the  ashes  of  the 
grave.  The  spirit  gives  no  token  of  its  being.  The 
life  of  the  dead  is  to  us  voiceless,  formless — real,  but  an 
impenetrable  secret.  So  the  change  you  have  under- 
gone may  well  be  called  a  death ;  for  that  life  to  which 
death  in  the  spiritual  sense  introduces  men  is  a  pro- 
found mystery  to  all  who  have  not  entered  upon  it. 
It  is  taken  clean  out  of  their  sphere,  and  removed  from 
their  observation. 

It  is  a  hidden  life,  because,  its  objects  are  hidden. 
The  objects  of  ordinary  life  are  visible  objects,  such  as 
the  senses  discern,  and  are  equally  open  to  the  notice 
of  men  of  all  characters  and  all  aims.  The  Christian 
shares  the  knowledge  and  use  of  them  equally  with  the 
worldling.  The  life  that  is  common  to  men  ''looks 
upon*  the  things  that  are  seen."  But  the  Christian 
looks  upon  "things  that  are  not  seen,"  and  lives  far 
more  with  reference  to  them  than  to  any  objects  of  sense. 
The  world  is  around  him,  and  presents  to  his  notice  its 
fulness,  its  beauty  and  its  splendour,  ^' the  lust  of  the 
flesh,  and  the  lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride  of  life." 


164  SERMON  XIV. 

But  to  none  of  these  is  his  attention  principally  given, 
his  desires  principally  attracted,  his  efforts  principally 
directed.  And  that  is,  because  there  are  present  to  him 
other  objects  more  excellent  and  attractive,  which  ef- 
fectually eclipse  and  overpower  them.  Faith  is  to  him 
another  eye,  with  which  he  sees  things  that  sense  can- 
not discover.  Its  telescopic  power  brings  near  and 
sets  before  him  a  whole  world  of  transcendent  realities, 
of  which  it  puts  him,  as  it  were,  into  possession,  be- 
coming to  him  "  the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  and 
the  evidence  of  things  not  seen."  "His  life  is  hid  with 
Christ  in  God."  It  "  entereth  into  that  within  the  vail." 
The  thoughts,  affections,  hopes,  aims,  purposes,  are  di- 
rected to  those  things,  which  that  conceals  from  ordina- 
ry men.  These  are  the  things  with  which  he  is  most 
familiar,  which  interest  him  most.  "We  are  come,"  says 
the  apostle,  not  we  hope  to  come — we  are  come,  "unto 
Mount  Zion,  and  unto  the  city  of  the  living  God,  the 
heavenly  Jerusalem,  and  to  an  innumerable  company 
of  angels,  to  the  general  assembly  and  church  of  the 
first-born  which  are  written  in  heaven,  and  to  God  the 
judge  of  all,  and  to  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  per- 
fect, and  to  Jesus,  the  mediator  of  the  new  covenant, 
and  to  the  blood  of  sprinkling,  which  speaketh  better 
things  than  that  of  Abel."  These  are  the  things  with 
which  we  are  conversant,  which  are  realities  to  us,  in  view 
of  which  we  live,  which  furnish  our  motives  of  action, 
which  stir  our  hopes  and  fears,  which  arouse  our  exer- 
tions, which  comfort  us  in  sorrow,  which  fill  our  hearts 
with  joy.  We  purpose  and  perform,  we  act  and  endure, 
"as  seeing  Him  who  is  invisible."     Our  life  is  on  high 


THE  HIDDEN  LIFE.  165 

with  Christ  in  Him,  and,  not  only  with  Christ,  as  it  is 
in  that  sphere  which  Christ  inhabits,  but  because  of 
Christ,  as  he  is  the  attractive  principle  that  thus  draws 
it  up  on  high  by  the  contemplation  of  his  work  and  me- 
rits, his  love  and  his  loveliness, — ^Svhom,  having  not 
seen,"  that  is  with  the  eye  of  sense,  ^'we  love;  in 
whom,  though  now  we  see  him  not,  yet  believing,  we 
rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory."  These 
then  are  the  things  which  the  Christian  is  thinking, 
feeling,  acting  about.  And  these  things  the  world 
does  not  see.  It  hears  of  them.  Perhaps  it  credits 
them.  But  it  is  not  conversant  with  them.  They  are 
not  practical,  influential  realities  to  it.  And  hence, 
in  as  much  as  a  man's  life,  outwardly  viewed,  is  in 
those  things  on  which  it  feeds  and  to  which  it  is  given, 
the  new  life  of  the  Christian  is,  to  the  world,  a  hidden  life. 
Equally  is  that  life  a  hidden  life  in  its  actings.  If 
a  man's  life,  outwardly  viewed,  is  in  those  things  about 
which  he  is  thinking,  feeling  and  acting,  inwardly 
viewed,  it  is  the  thinking,  feeling  and  acting.  And 
this  from  the  world  is  inviolably  hidden.  It  may 
indeed  be  said,  that  thinking  and  feeling,  the  whole 
action  of  the  soul,  is  necessarily  hidden,  because  it  is 
the  action  of  an  invisible  substance,  of  which  sense 
takes  no  cognizance.  But  the  thinking  and  feeling,  the 
spiritual  action  of  one  soul,  is  discoverable  to  another 
in  the  light  of  experience.  That  experience  limits  the 
discovery.  The  quality  of  religious  thought  and  feeling 
is  a  thing  unknown  to  a  mind  that  is  not  itself  religious. 
Words  utterly  fail  to  convey  any  just  notion  of  it ;  for 
they  are  merely  representatives  of  abstractions,  which 
15 


166  SERMON  XIV. 

are  understood,  only  as  tliej  are  realized  in  a  personal 
appropriation.  Who  knows  what  repentance  is,  that 
has  not  repented?  or  faith,  that  has  not  believed?  or  love, 
that  has  not  loved?  I  understand  repentance,  in  my 
repentance ;  and  faith,  in  my  faith ;  and  love,  in  my  love. 
"  The  natural  man  receiveth  not  the  things  of  the  Spirit 
of  God;  for  they  are  foolishness  to  him:  neither  can  he 
know  them,  because  they  are  spiritually  discerned." 
Spirituality  alone  has  the  eye  that  can  perceive  and  dis- 
tinguish them.  Thus  we  see,  that  the  very  substance  of 
the  Christian  life  is  a  thing  unknown  to  the  world. 
Much  more,  then,  is  its  actual  working  in  a  given  soul. 
How  complete  a  secret  indeed  is  a  Christian  man  as  he 
moves  before  his  fellows,  that  inner  world  in  which  his 
true  life  is  going  on  as  much  cut  off  from  them  as 
tjiough  it  were  removed  at  an  infinite  distance.  Men 
look  upon  their  fellow  men,  and  though,  at  any  given 
time,  they  cannot  read  their  thoughts,  they  can  divine 
them,  by  seeing  what  their  outward  occupation  is,  and 
judging  how  men  so  occupied  would  naturally  think. 

But  the  Christian  has  a  line  of  thinking  that  is  pe- 
culiar to  himself,  and  which  thus  renders  his  inner  and 
true  life,  an  entirely  different  thing  from  the  outward 
appearances  under  which  it  is  going  on ;  and  there  may 
be  a  whole  liturgy  of  worship  performed  by  him,  while 
the  secular  guise  that  conceals  it  is  all  the  world  sees. 
His  religion  is  not  a  thing  of  occasions,  and  he  need 
not  suspend  his  outward  work  for  it.  There  it  goes  on 
in  the  temple  of  his  soul,  while  the  business  of  his  tem- 
poral calling  is  proceeding  on  the  visible  surface  of  his 
existence.     He  prays  and  praises,  he  communes  with 


THE  HIDDEN  LIFE.  167 

God,  he  seeks  Christ's  glory,  he  offers  a  tribute  to  God's 
authority,  while  he  seems  to  be  doing  only  some  very 
common,  ordinary  matter.  Oh !  we  know  not  Avhat  a 
beautiful  world  of  holy  hopes,  heavenly  aspirations, 
pure  and  fervid  affections,  thoughts  of  benevolence, 
purposes  of  usefulness,  a  piece  of  heaven  upon  earth, 
may  be  dwelling  and  moving  by  us  unperceived,  in  the 
garb,  it  may  be,  of  poverty  and  insignificance,  in  all  its 
outward  lowliness,  a  "life  that  is  hid  with  Christ  in 
God." 

My  dear  brethren,  let  us  apply  this  test  fairly,  faith- 
fully, to  our  own  spiritual  condition.  The  life  that 
ends  in  heaven  is  the  life  that  borrows  heaven  to  live 
in  upon  earth.  Is  ours  such  a  life,  a  life  that  has  its 
springs,  resources,  supports  and  objects  in  an  unseen 
world,  a  life  of  faith,  a  life  that  looks  to  Christ  living 
above,  our  Advocate  and  Mediator,  a  life  that  habitu- 
ally recognises  and  resorts  to  a  set  of  objects  which 
are  not  perceived  by  our  eyes,  or  any  of  our  senses, 
and  which  is  mingling,  as  with  familiar  realities,  with 
the  things  of  a  blessed  and  holy  eternity  ?  If  our  life 
has  no  such  element  in  it,  what  is  our  religion  but  a 
"form  of  godliness;"  and  in  what  will  it  end  but  in 
an  awful  and  irreparable  disappointment  ?  If  the  germ 
of  such  a  life  be  in  us,  let  us  seek  to  develop  and  ex- 
pand it  more  and  more.  It  is  our  happiness  below,  and 
the  beginning  and  earnest  of  a  far  richer  happiness 
hereafter. 

And  is  not  such  a  life  desirable  and  attractive  to  all 
mortal  men?  Will  it  not  awaken  in  all  a  desire  and 
effort  to  obtain  it?     Who,  in  this  scene  of  change  and 


168  SERMON  XIV. 

uncertainty  and  decay,  would  not  rejoice  to  connect 
himself  with  that  which  is  immutable,  steadfast  and 
eternal  ?  Nothing  is  of  that  nature  here.  How  great 
a  thing  it  is,  to  be  independent  of  a  world  so  full  of  per- 
turbations and  disruptions,  of  vicissitudes  and  losses 
and  defeats !  Who  would  not  have  something  to  live 
upon,  and  labour  for,  which  can  never  fail,  never 
deteriorate,  never  disappear  ?  The  Christian  life  gives 
this  to  us ;  it  dwells  in  God,  it  has  fellowship  with 
Christ,  it  embraces  eternity. 

Ah!  my  dear  brethren,  do  not  grovel  here.  All 
here  is  unstable  and  perishing.  The  life  that  lives 
upon  it  is  a  miserable  and  most  unfit  life  for  an  im- 
mortal being,  the  perversion  and  abuse  of  a  most  noble 
and  glorious  nature.  Lay  hold  on  Christ,  and  live  for 
eternity;  for  '' the  world  passeth  away,  and  the  lust 
thereof,  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  God,  abideth 
forever." 


CHRISTIAN  CONCENTRATION.  169 


SERMON  XV. 

CHRISTIAN  CONCENTRATION. 

This  one  thing  I  do. — Phil.  hi.  13. 

Singleness  of  aim  and  concentration  of  effort  can 
alone  give  life,  dignity  and  power.  Great  talents  and 
great  labours,  consumed  on  a  variety  of  separate  and 
disconnected  objects,  fail  of  achieving  effects  commen- 
surate Vith  the  ability  and  energy  which  they  display, 
and  seldom  succeed  in  commanding  the  reverence  and 
gratitude  of  men.  The  man  who  turns  life  to  best  ac- 
count for  himself  and  his  fellows,  is  the  man  who  does 
one  thing,  who,  choosing  for  himself  at  the  outset  one 
line  of  action,  usefulness  and  eminence,  devotes  all  his 
energies  to  its  prosecution,  and,  with  unwavering  con- 
stancy and  steady  perseverance,  presses  towards  his 
mark.  Such  a  man  must  have  firmness  and  self-de- 
nial, resolution  to  forego  many  immediate  advan- 
tages, tempting  offers,  specious  allurements,  forsake 
much  good  which  life  presents  to  his  acceptance,  and, 
for  the  sake  of  more  effectually  compassing  and 
perfecting  this  one  thing,  leave  undone  many  things 
which  offer  valuable  returns,  and  turn  his  back,  thouc?h 
it  be  with  a  sigh,  on  many  openings  that  exhibit  flat- 
tering prospects  of  pleasure  and  advantage.  ^'Let 
thine  eyes  look  right  on,"  says  the  wise  king  of  Israel, 

15* 


170  SERMON  XV. 

*'  and  let  thine  eyelids  look  straight  before  thee.  Pon- 
der the  path  of  thy  feet,  and  let  all  thy  ways  be  es- 
tablished. Turn  not  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left : 
remove  thy  foot  from  evil:  " — words,  than  which,  even 
leaving  out  of  view  their  spiritual  application,  none 
wiser  or  fitter  were  ever  uttered  to  the  sons  of  men. 
And  yet  this  unity  is  not  incompatible  with  a  certain 
complexity,  which  unavoidably  characterizes  the  com- 
position of  human  life,  a  diversity  of  contribution  and 
of  ramification;  as  the  tree  is  made  up  of  many  roots 
and  many  branches,  yet  has  one  trunk,  in  which  all 
feeders  end,  and  from  which  all  outgrowths  proceed. 
Religion  is  made  up  of  parts ;  and  there  is  much  in 
life  not  immediately  and  directly  religious,  which  yet 
is  requisite  not  only  to  its  completeness,  but  to  its 
very  being,  and  which  religion,  true  and  enlightened, 
will  not  allow  us  to  omit  or  treat  slightingly.  The 
unity  of  life  only  requires  the  studious  rejection  of 
all  that  does  not  in  some  way  conduce  to  a  common 
end  or  issue  from  a  common  source. 

St.  Paul  tells  us  in  the  text  that  he  did  one  thing, 
and  by  implication  that  he  did  but  one  thing.  And 
yet  St.  Paul's  was  a  life  of  multifarious  activity.  Few 
men  spread  their  action  over  a  broader  surface,  or 
apply  it  to  a  greater  variety  of  particulars.  He  was 
in  journey ings  often,  and  extended  his  labours  over 
almost  all  the  then  known  world.  A  debtor  to  the 
Greeks  and  to  the  Jews,  to  civilized  men  and  to  bar- 
barians, he  was  ^'all  things  unto  all  men,  if  by  any 
means  he  might  save  some;"  adapting  himself  to  the 
condition  of  those  with  whom  he  had  to  do,  with  a  fa- 
cility truly  remarkable. 


CHRI   TIAN  CONCENTRATION.  171 

We  should  say  he  was  a  man  of  wonderful  adapta- 
bility and  versatility,  now  expounding  Moses  and  the 
prophets  to  his  countrymen  in  their  synagogues,  now 
unfolding  the  religion  of  nature  and  quoting  the  hea- 
then poets  to  the  polished  and  philosophic  Athenians, 
now  teaching  with  all  plainness  of  speech  the  princi- 
ples of  Christianity  to  ''the  barbarous  people"  of  Me- 
lita.  Nay,  he  was  not  always  a  preacher  in  any  form ; 
for  he  "laboured  working  with  his  hands,"  and  wrought 
at  one  time,  we  know,  at  the  occupation  of  a  tent- 
maker.  But  he  was  always  an  Apostle  of  Jesus  Christ, 
and  he  never  forgot  it.  All  he  did  was  always  subor- 
dinate to  the  design  of  that  high  office,  and  subservient, 
in  some  way,  to  the  more  effectual  accomplishment  of 
his  work.  So  that  he  could  say  to  others :  "  Do  all  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus" — "Do  all  to  the  glory 
of  God,"  without  any  fear  that  his  own  example 
would  be  quoted  as  a  contradiction  of  his  precept. 
This  was  the  principle  that  cemented  all  the  parts  of 
his  life  into  one,  and  gave  it,  with  all  its  diversity  of 
manifestation  and  performance,  an  essential  consis- 
tency and  oneness.  By  virtue  of  this,  while  he  was  in 
one  sense,  doing  many  things,  he  was  in  another  and  a 
higher,  always  doing  one  thing,  because  he  was  always 
serving  God,  and  seeking  to  save  his  soul  and  do  good 
to  men.  This  was  a  work  with  him  that  never  stood 
still,  to  which  all  he  did  was  in  some  sense  a  con- 
tribution, of  which  all  the  particular  acts,  forms,  oc- 
cupations of  his  life,  some  more  sacred,  and  some  more 
secular,  were  but  different  effects  and  guises. 

There  are  two  ways,  in  which  men  may  seek  to  give 


172  SERMON  XV. 

their  life  a  religious  unity  and  concentration.  The 
one  is  by  the  contraction  of  the  secular,  and  the  other 
is  by  the  diffusion  of  the  sacred.  It  may  be  admitted 
that  there  is  room  for  both  in  a  plan  of  Christian 
living ;  and  yet  we  think,  that  a  candid  survey  of  the 
work  which  God  assigns  us,  will  satisfy  us,  that  our 
wisdom  and  our  welfare  lie  chiefly  in  the  latter. 

We  have  seen,  that  in  order  to  have  one  end  in  life, 
and  thus  to  give  life  itself  that  singleness  which  is  re- 
quisite to  thy  more  effectual  realization  of  its  power 
and  value,  there  must  be  firmness  and  self-denial.  We 
must  resolutely  pass,  and  refuse  to  be  attracted  by, 
many  things,  which  are  goodly  and  advantageous  in 
themselves,  but  which  cannot  be  pursued,  without  di- 
verting from  our  main  object  an  amount  of  time  and 
power,  which  is  needful  to  its  successful  completion. 
A  man,  who  has  a  journey  before  him  sufficient  to  oc- 
cupy a  day,  and  only  a  day  to  perform  it  in,  must  not 
allow  himself  to  turn  aside,  to  pluck  the  flowers  which 
grow  by  the  wayside,  or  examine  the  green  lanes  that 
diverge  from  his  track.  If  he  loiters,  to  mineralize, 
and  botanize,  to  saunter  in  cool  shades,  or  rest  by 
bubbling  fountains,  night  will  overtake  him  before  his 
journey  is  ended.  He  may  do  anything,  that  will  not 
interfere  with  his  central  purpose  of  finishing  his  jour- 
ney in  the  time  allotted,  but  nothing,  that  will  consume 
the  time,  and  waste  the  strength,  which  the  completion 
of  it  demands.  There  must  undoubtedly  be  contrac- 
tion, in  its  measure,  of  attention  and  effort.  No  man, 
that  would  do  the  work  of  life  well,  must  undertake  to 
do  all  that  offers  to  be  done,  or  all,  that,  if  done,  would 


CHRISTIAN  CONCENTRATION.  1T3 

seem  to  assure  him  of  a  valuable  reward.  The  gain 
will  be  loss,  if,  in  consequence,  there  is  interruption  of 
the  main  work,  and  the  great  object  is  sacrificed  in 
any  degree  to  the  acquisition  of  the  collateral  advan- 
tage. And  if  the  work  of  religion  be  chosen  as  the 
business  of  life,  as  by  every  being  that  is  immortal  it 
ought  to  be,  then  his  efforts  must  be  contracted  so  as 
to  keep  within  the  limits  of  his  chosen  business.  No- 
thing must  be  undertaken  or  performed  which  will 
withdraw  his  energies  from  it,  nothing  which  may  not 
be  made  to  contribute  in  some  way  to  its  execution. 
And  doubtless,  this  will  in  every  instance  set  limits  to 
human  desire  and  human  exertion,  and  compel  the  man, 
who  is  sincere  and  earnest  in  his  spiritual  work,  to  re- 
fuse to  do  many  things,  not  merely  such,  as  are  intrinsi- 
cally sinful,  but  also  such,  as,  innocent  in  themselves, 
will  evidently  tend  to  diminish  his  fervour  and  dili- 
gence in  working  out  his  salvation.  To  draw  these 
lines  with  precision  is  impossible.  Individual  discretion 
must  determine  them.  We  can  only  say,  that  nothing 
can  wisely  be  pursued  by  a  religious  man,  which  will 
not  incorporate  with  his  religion,  nothing  that  will 
stand  away  from  his  life  as  a  digression  or  set  upon 
it  as  an  excrescence. 

The  Bible  is  everywhere  warning  men  against  an 
undue  and  dangerous  secularity.  It  tells  men  every 
where,  who  would  seek  to  serve  God,  "not  to  be  entan- 
gled in  the  affairs  of  this  life."  And  every  man  who 
has  ever  undertaken  to  "live  godly  in  Christ  Jesus," 
in  this  present  evil  world,  has  felt  the  necessity  of  con- 
stant watchfulness,  caution  and  self-restraint,  not  to 


174  SERMON  XY. 

be  drawn  away  from  his  great  object  by  the  claims  of 
that  which  is  specious,  innocent  or  excellent,  but  can- 
not be  pursued  by  him  without  trenching  upon  the  para- 
mount claims  of  God  and  eternity.  There  is,  however, 
a  danger  on  this  side,  a  perversion  of  this  important 
principle,  into  which  men  are  liable  to  fall,  and  not  un- 
frequently  have  fallen.  Men,  in  seeking  to  be  spiritual, 
sometimes  seem  to  suppose  that  it  is  well  to  compress 
secular  interest  and  attention  into  the  narrowest  pos- 
sible limits,  to  do  nothing  of  a  worldly  nature  which 
they  can  avoid  doing,  and  to  devote  as  large  a  portion 
of  their  time  as  may  be,  to  occupations  which  are  di- 
rectly and  visibly  religious.  This  first  made  men  her- 
mits. This,  under  a  false  view  of  the  nature  of  religion, 
induced  men  to  withdraw  from  those  relations  and  posts 
which  they  were  appointed  to  fill,  to  practise  a  rigid 
asceticism,  to  neglect  the  body,  to  make  themselves  ex- 
ceptions and  isolations  in  society,  standing  away  from 
its  interests,  and  contributing  nothing  to  the  sum  of 
its  happiness  and  improvement.  Out  of  this  false  idea 
grew  the  whole  monastic  system,  with  its  manifold 
mischiefs  and  abuses.  And  not  a  few,  who  are  the 
readiest  to  condemn  a  monk,  are  guilty  of  a  monk's 
mistake.  All  are,  indeed,  who  find  in  religion  an  ex- 
cuse for  the  neglect  of  the  appropriate  business  of 
their  stations,  w^ho  let  the  work  of  that  place  which  they- 
fill  in  the  social  system  go  undone,  while  they  are  oc- 
cupied in  prayer,  or  listening  to  preachers,  or  labouring 
in  popular  schemes  of  charity,  who  are  negligent  hus- 
bands, wives,  sons,  daughters,  tradesmen,  artificers, 
because  they  are  aiming  to  serve  God.     We  do  not  be- 


CHRISTIAN  CONCENTRATION.  175 

lieve  that  our  Lord,  when  lie  reproved  Martha,  for 
being  unreasonably  "cumbered  with  much  serving," 
would  have  commended  Marj,  for  always  sitting  at  his 
feet. 

But  Christian  concentration,  as  we  have  observed 
above,  lies  less  in  abridging  the  amount  of  our  secular 
engagements,  than  in  widening  the  sphere  of  our  spiri- 
tual action.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  spiritualizing  and 
sanctifying  interests  and  employments  which  are  out- 
wardly and  naturally  worldly,  so  as  to  make  them  a 
part  of  our  religion,  to  absorb  them  into  our  one  work 
of  seeking  salvation,  incorporate  them  into  the  service 
of  God,  so  that  the  two  may  go  on  together  harmonious- 
ly and  without  interference,  and  the  whole  life,  ani- 
mated by  one  spirit  and  directed  by  one  design,  be  in- 
cessantly occupied  in  the  execution  of  the  only  task 
which  gives  it  real  dignity,  and  value, — that  of  glori- 
fying God,  in  order  to  enjoy  him  forever.  If  this  is 
done,  there  need  be  no  pauses  in  business  for  the 
accommodation  of  religious  pursuits ;  for  business  itself 
is  a  religious  pursuit.  Specifically  and  peculiarly  re- 
ligious duties  will  have  their  place,  and  not  be  crowded 
out  by  attention  to  temporal  interests;  if  they  are, 
this  attention  is  excessive,  and  there  is  call  for  the  con- 
traction of  the  secular  of  which  we  have  spoken  under 
the  preceding  head.  But  when  they  are  performed, 
they  give  place  to  no  cessation  of  the  religious  life,  but 
only  to  a  change  of  its  form,  which,  when  it  ceases  to 
act  under  its  own  special  provisions  and  manifestations, 
adopts  and  consecrates  the  forms  of  common  life,  and 
thus  moves  on  in  an  unbroken,  continuous  stream. 


176  SERMON  XV. 

The  way  to  do  this  is  simple,  and  would  be  easy, 
were  it  not  for  our  natural  disinclination  to  spiritual 
pursuits,  and  the  difficulty  with  which  religion  is  fa- 
miliarized in  human  souls.  Nothing  that  is  not  intrin- 
sically evil,  or  so  excessive  as  to  interfere  with  the  ap- 
propriate duties  of  piety,  is  incapable  of  being  made 
religious,  and  becoming  a  contribution  to  the  work  of 
salvation.  All  is,  to  infuse  into  it  a  religious  motive, 
and  look  beyond  its  immediate  result,  to  its  remoter  but 
more  important  influence  on  our  eternal  welfare,  and 
be  always  purposing  and  aiming  at  this  ultimate  fruit. 
In  this  way,  secular  action,  though  it  is  not  a  native 
outgrowth  of  religion,  becomes  engrafted  upon  its 
stock,  and  imbued  with  its  life  and  quality.  And  the 
true  life  of  the  soul  will  flow  and  move  as  freely  in 
these  adopted  members  as  in  those  which  it  has  put  forth 
by  its  own  natural  tendency.  The  life  is  thus  all  hal- 
lowed; and  obedience  is  easily  attained  to  these  pre- 
cepts of  the  apostle, — "Whatsoever  we  do  in  word  or 
deed,  do  all  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  giving 
thanks  to  God  and  the  Father  by  him," — "  Whether 
ye  eat  or  drink  or  whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to  the  glory 
of  God." 

Two  things  we  ought  to  keep  in  niind,  the  motive 
and  its  application. 

The  motive  it  is  that  gives  any  act  its  moral  value, 
and  that  is  its  value  in  the  sight  of  God.  Hence  it  is, 
that  "  that  which  is  highly  esteemed  among  men  is  abo- 
mination in  the  sight  of  God ;  for  man  looketh  on  the 
outward  appearance,  but  the  Lord  looketh  on  the 
heart."     And  hence  the  injunction,  "Keep  thy  heart 


CHRISTIAN  CONCENTRATION.  177 

with  all  diligence:"  it  is  here  that  the  true  life  is 
going  on,  and  here  that  God  is  taking  account  of  it  for 
the  day  of  judgment. 

A  man  in  an  act  or  course  of  action  may  have  two 
purposes,  a  nearer  and  a  more  remote.  If  he  is  a  re- 
ligious man,  he  will.  And  it  is  the  remoter  purpose 
that  sanctifies  the  act  or  course,  and  incorporates  it  into 
his  religious  life.  And  thus  the  great  variety  of  things 
which  a  man  may  be  doing,  in  the  secular  view  of  his 
conduct,  are  all  parts  of  that  one  thing,  which  alone 
constantly,  unintermittingly  he  is  doing,  in  a  spiritual 
sense.  An  act  or  course  of  action  has  a  proximate  in- 
tent,which  is  visible  to  men, — a  commendable  or  at  least 
an  innocent  one  it  must  be — as  for  instance,  to  support 
a  family,  to  acquire  a  competency,  to  accumulate  know- 
ledge, to  improve  the  mind,  to  obtain  salutary  recrea- 
tion. But  beyond  this  there  may  be  another  and  bet- 
ter motive,  which  only  God  can  see,  as,  to  do  the  will 
of  God,  to  advance  his  glory,  to  promote  his  cause, 
to  honour  Christ,  recommend  religion,  benefit  mankind 
spiritually,  advance  the  soul  in  holiness  and  fitness  for 
heaven,  and  co-operate  with  the  grace  of  God  in  work- 
ing out  its  salvation.  And  then  the  act,  in  all  its  ap- 
parent secularity,  is  as  religious  as  a  prayer,  or  a  sacra- 
ment, or  the  hearing  of  a  sermon,  or  the  most  devout 
and  sacred  aspirations  of  the  spirit. 

But  we  are  to  take  care  not  only  of  the  motive,  but 
of  its  application.  It  is  not  enough  to  have  adopted 
this  motive  as  the  ruling  purpose  of  life.  We  must  watch 
over  its  operation.  It  is  not  a  motive  that  is  natural 
to  men,  and  therefore,  it  will  not  work,  untended  and 
16 


178  SERMON  XV. 

uncared  for.  We  must  take  care  tliat  it  does  not  slip 
away  from  us.  We  must  be  asking  ourselves — we  can 
hardly  ask  too  frequently — whether  it  is  in  actual  ope- 
ration. We  must  be  frequently  giving  it  the  fresh 
impulse  of  new  resolves.  We  must  be,  as  often  as  we 
conveniently  can,  giving  it  a  separate  application  to 
our  particular  acts.  We  must  be  recalling  ourselves 
to  it,  distributing  it  as  minutely  as  we  can  to  the  details 
of  our  conduct,  and  endeavouring,  as  far  as  possible,  to 
give  it  a  conscious  sway  in  our  hearts,  and  an  active 
control  of  our  practice. 


THE  TOUCH  OP  FAITH.  179 


SERMON  XYI. 

THE    TOUCH    OF    FAITH. 

And  Jesus,  immediately  knowing  in  himself  that  virtue  had  gone 
out  of  him,  turned  him  about  in  the  press,  and  said,  Who  touched 
my  clothes?  And  his  disciples  said  unto  him,  Thou  seest  the 
multitude  thronging  thee,  and  sayest  thou,  Who  touched  me? — St. 
Mark  v.  30,  31. 

Our  Lord  was  surrounded  by  a  throng.  He  was 
going  to  the  house  of  Jairus  to  heal  his  daughter ;  and 
a  multitude  of  people,  drawn  by  feeling  or  curiosity, 
or  that  vague  and  nameless  impulse  that  sometimes 
draws  together  a  crowd,  accompanied  him  on  his  way. 
In  the  course  of  his  walk,  doubtless  no  small  number 
of  them,  at  one  time  or  other,  were  brought  into  contact 
with  his  person.  The  company  of  a  coarse  and  inqui- 
sitive rabble  must  have  been  annoying  to  his  pure  and 
refined  spirit;  but  it  drew  forth  from  him  no  word  of 
complaint  or  displeasure.  Once  only  did  he  notice 
that  any  one  had  touched  him;  and  that  touch  was 
gentle,  brief,  and,  to  ordinary  sense,  imperceptible.  But 
he  felt  it  so  as  he  felt  no  other  touch.  It  even  drew 
virtue  from  him,  virtue  that  wrought  in  that  toucher 
an  instantaneous  and  perfect  cure.  There  was  a  cer- 
tain woman  in  that  throng,  who  came  in  the  press  be- 
hind and  touched  his  garment,  of  purpose.  It  was  no 
rude  grasp  or  prolonged  pressure.  It  was  soft  and 
momentary,  but  it  was  full  of  meaning  and  of  efficacy. 


180  SERMON  XVI. 

Others  touched  him  carelessly  and  accidentally.  She 
touched  him  purposely  and  reverently.  She  came  to 
touch  him.  That  was  the  sole  purpose  of  her  presence, 
and  in  it  the  full  object  of  her  approach  was  disclosed 
and  fulfilled.  She  had  not  come  to  look  upon  him, 
nor  to  see  what  he  would  do.  She  was  actuated  by 
no  idle  curiosity,  nor  by  that  vacant  sympathy,  or 
meaningless  compliance  with  the  impulse  of  a  crowd, 
which  often  carries  men  with  others  they  know  not 
why.  She  came  to  touch  him.  That  was  her  express 
and  exclusive  business ;  and  when  it  was  performed, 
the  whole  design  of  her  visit  was  manifested  and  com- 
pleted. And  though  it  was  the  lightest  and  the  quick- 
est touch  of  all  that  he  experienced  in  his  way  to  the 
house  of  Jairus,  the  most  secret  and  retiring,  he  felt 
it  most,  and  noticed  it  alone.  Nay,  it  seems  as  though 
it  was  the  only  case  of  contact  that  he  called  a  touch. 
Jesus  turned  him  about  in  the  press, — notice,  it  was 
a  press, — his  companions  kept  at  no  respectful  dis- 
tance from  him, — and  said.  Who  touched  my  clothes? 
The  question  puzzled  and  astonished  his  disciples.  He 
almost  seemed  to  them  to  trifle.  "Peter  and  they 
that  were  with  him  said.  Master,  the  multitude  throng 
thee  and  press  thee ;  and  sayest  thou.  Who  touched 
me?  "  And  Jesus,  not  noticing  their  surprise,  or  heed- 
ing their  implied  correction,  quietly  rejoined,  "  Some- 
body hath  touched  me ;  for  I  perceive  that  virtue  is 
gone  out  of  me."  Ah!  there  was  something  in  this 
woman's  touch  that  made  it  peculiar  indeed,  a  touch 
in  no  common  sense,  a  touch  that  extracted  virtue,  a 
touch  that  Jesus  answered  by  a  putting  forth  of  that 


THE  TOUCH  OF  FAITH.  181 

power  that  was  in  him  for  the  relief  of  human  trouhle, 
that  called  into  action  his  dormant  authority,  that  set 
free  his  latent  divinity.  For,  we  do  not  suppose  that 
virtue  went  forth  from  him  involuntarily  and  uninten- 
tionally, in  answer  to  this  woman's  touch.  His  ques- 
tion was  not  intended  for  investigation,  but  for  mani- 
festation, not  to  detect  the  person  who  had  drawn  a 
blessing  from  him  by  stealth,  but  to  display  the  person, 
to  whose  faith  he  had  accorded  a  prompt  and  willing 
recompense,  to  the  knowledge  and  admiration  of  the 
bystanders.  Not  because  Jesus  did  not  know  her,  did 
he  inquire  her  out,  but  because  the  men  that  were  with 
him  did  not  know  her,  and  because  he  would  not  suf- 
fer her  to  lose  the  honour,  nor  them  the  benefit,  which 
the  manifestation  of  her  faith  and  its  success  might 
yield.  She  was  a  diseased  woman,  and  she  had  been 
a  great  sufferer  for  many  years.  She  had  impoverished 
herself  in  fruitless  endeavours  to  obtain  relief.  Still 
her  painful  and  loathsome  malady  clung  to  her.  She 
had  spent  all  her  living  upon  physicians,  neither  could 
be  healed  of  any.  ^'  She  was  nothing  bettered,  but 
rather  grew  worse."  Human  help  was  vain.  From 
ordinary  means  she  had  ceased  to  hope  for  deliverance, 
and  saw  no  refuge  from  her  misery  but  the  grave.  But 
now  Jesus  came  that  way, — the  true,  the  infallible,  the 
divine  Physician.  She  heard,  she  saw,  his  miracles 
of  love  and  power.  No  evil  defied  his  skill,  or  failed 
of  his  compassion.  He  was  even  then  going  on  an 
errand  of  mercy  at  the  call  of  suffering  and  sorrow, 
to  stand  by  the  bed-side  of  a  dying  girl,  and  speak 
back  to  life  the  perished  hope  of  moaning  hearts.    An 

16* 


182  SERMON  XVI. 

only  daughter  lay  a  dying,  nay,  "was  even  now  dead, 
for  such  was  the  second  message  that  met  him  on  the 
way,  and  he  was  going  to  recall  her  to  life  and  give 
her  sorrowing  parents  "beauty  for  ashes  and  the  oil 
of  joy  for  mourning."  The  poor  victim  of  distress 
saw  the  passing  multitude,  and  mingled  in  it.  She 
made  her  way  through  the  crowd  till  she  stood  in  the 
immediate  presence  of  the  wonderful  Healer.  With  a 
mixture  of  awe  and  hope,  of  faith  and  timidity,  she 
came  behind  him.  She  did  not  present  herself  to  his 
view  or  seek  his  observation.  But  she  put  forth  her 
feeble  and  shrunken  hand,  and  touched  the  hem  of  his 
robe.  It  was  all  she  dared  to  do,  and  it  was  enough. 
He  saw  her  with  the  eye  of  his  Divinity.  He  saw  the 
working  of  her  thoughts.  He  knew  all  that  was  in  her 
heart.  She  touched,  and  immediately  she  felt  in  her 
body  that  she  was  healed  of  that  plague.  Now,  doubt- 
less, there  were  in  that  crowd  others  besides  this  woman, 
who  were  labouring  under  the  ills  of  the  flesh,  and 
were  so  far  fit  subjects  for  the  exertion  of  Christ's  heal- 
ing power ;  and  of  them  others,  as  well  as  she,  were 
brought  into  contact  with  his  person.  She  only  was 
healed.  They  carried  away  their  maladies  as  they 
brought  them. 

It  was  then  no  magical  power  in  his  flesh,  or  in  his 
garment,  or  in  her  touch,  that  wTOught  this  cure.  ■  It 
was  accomplished  by  no  blind  efficacy,  as  of  a  charm 
or  talisman,  nor  by  any  capricious  going  forth  of  the 
virtue  that  resided  in  him.  It  was  eff"ected  by  the  co- 
operation of  his  will  and  her  will,  of  her  will  in  touch- 
ing, and  of  his  will  in  according  to  her  touch  the  benefit 


THE  TOUCH  OF  FAITH.  183 

it  sought.  She  might  have  touched  him  accidentally, 
ever  so  often,  as  others  about  him  did,  and  remained 
as  little  profited  as  they.  And  she  might  have  touched 
him  purposely,  and  if  he  had  not  heeded  her  touch,  or 
had  seen  fit  not  to  vouchsafe  it  a  gracious  answer,  she 
"would  have  gone  away  still  the  prey  of  a  deadly  ail- 
ment. It  was  not  the  medicinal  quality  of  his  clothes 
or  of  his  flesh  that  restored  her  to  soundness,  but  the 
free,  conscious  action  of  his  intelligent  mind  and  com- 
passionate "heart.  The  touch  and  the  garment  were 
but  outward  signs  and  vehicles  of  the  inward,  invisible 
working  of  her  soul  and  his,  which  by  them  found 
expression,  and  sensible  testification  to  the  eyes  of 
men. 

Not  the  touch,  but  the  spirit  of  the  touch,  was  her 
qualification  to  be  healed;  and  not  the  garment,  but 
the  sovereign,  merciful  power  of  him  whom  it  invested, 
was  the  efiicacious  instrument  of  her  restoration ;  and 
yet  that  spirit  might  have  been  inefiectual,  and  that 
power  inefficacious,  but  for  that  outward  action  on  her 
part,  which  elicited  the  answering  action  on  his,  that 
brought  to  her  so  rich  a  blessing.  Now,  the  spirit 
that  wrought  in  her  touch  and  gave  it  value  was  faith ; 
and  it  was  this  in  her  that  the  Saviour  saw  and  accept- 
ed and  rewarded:  a  rude,  ignorant  faith  it  may  have 
been ;  for  we  have  no  reason  to  suppose,  that  she  had 
attained  to  a  very  distinct,  accurate,  complete  know- 
ledge of  his  nature  and  mission  and  office.  But  it 
was  sincere,  real,  earnest,  practical.  All  she  had  op- 
portunity to  know  she  believed,  and  that  not  as  theory, 
but  as  an  incentive  and  encouragement  of  action.     It 


184  SERMON  xvr. 

led  her  to  him.  It  persuaded  her  to  touch  him.  Ah! 
such  faith,  in  all  its  dimness  and  rudimental  character, 
was  worth  more  than  the  most  exact  and  elaborate  or- 
thodoxy, nicely  chiselled  as  the  marble  of  Phidias,  and 
as  cold.  It  drew  forth  her  soul  in  trust  and  endeavour. 
There  was  vitality  to  it;  and  it  wrought  savingly.  It 
was  "precious  faith;"  the  Saviour  of  men  put  honour 
upon  it,  accorded  to  it  an  abundant  recompense.  It 
was  the  perception  of  this  in  her  that  called  his  power 
into  action  for  her  relief;  and,  to  display  it  and  make 
it  honourable  in  the  eyes  of  men,  and  commend  it  to 
their  approval  and  imitation,  did  he  afterwards  inquire 
after  her,  and  drew  her  out  from  the  crowd  in  which 
she  had  modestly  concealed  herself:  and  then,  "the 
woman,  fearing  and  trembling,  knowing  what  was  done 
in  her,"  agitated  with  gratitude  and  alarm  at  the 
thought  of  her  boldness  and  success  and  exposure,  "came 
and  fell  down  before  him, and  told  him  all  the  truth;" 
and  he  soothed  her  with  benignant  words,  and  "said 
unto  her.  Daughter,  thy  faith  hath  made  thee  whole ; 
go  in  peace,  and  be  whole  of  thy  plague."  This  de- 
tection and  manifestation  were  not  designed  to  make 
her  a  trophy,  so  much  as  to  set  her  forth  as  an  example 
and  a  pattern,  which,  in  all  subsequent  ages,  might  in- 
duce and  embolden  men  to  come  to  the  same  almighty 
and  exhaustless  fountain  of  strength  and  love,  for  no- 
bler benefits  and  more  exalted  mercies. 

For,  be  it  remembered,  that  our  Lord  came  not  in 
the  character  of  a  physician  of  men's  bodies,  but  as  a 
healer  of  their  souls.  What  he  did  for  the  relief  of 
their  physical  distress  was  but  incidental  and  second- 


THE  TOUCH  OF  FAITH.  185 

ary.  It  was  to  commend  himself  to  their  faith  as  "the 
author  of  eternal  salvation,"  that  he  vouchsafed  to  be- 
come the  ready  and  compassionate  helper  of  their  tem- 
poral distresses.  For  this  cause,  "  he  went  about  doing 
good  and  healing  all  them  that  were  oppressed  with 
the  devil."  His  kindness  to  the  bodies  of  men  was  but 
a  sort  of  type  and  earnest  of  what  he  would  do  for 
their  souls.  Oh !  it  was  not  to  save  their  perishable 
bodies  from  going  down  to  their  bed  of  dust  a  little 
sooner,  or  to  relieve  them  during  their  sojourn  from  a 
few  transient  pangs  and  inconveniences,  that  he  came 
on  earth  and  dwelt  among  men ;  but  to  save  imperish- 
able souls  from  ruin,  and  rescue  the  immortal  spirits  of 
men  from  "the  bitter  pains  of  eternal  death."  And 
here  it  is,  that  the  narratives  of  his  wonderful  works  of 
mercy  upon  earth  become  to  us  so  full  of  interest  and 
instruction,  as  they  shadow  out  to  us  those  nobler  works 
of  spiritual  mercy,  which  form  the  peculiar  object  and 
business  of  his  mission. 

And  it  is  delightful  to  know,  moreover,  that  in  this 
his  more  special  and  appropriate  work,  he  yet  dwells 
on  earth  and  vouchsafes  his  presence  to  men.  To  this 
end  it  is  not  needful  that  he  should  move  visibly  along 
our  streets  and  corporeally  visit  our  dwellings.  Oh ! 
no.  In  this  he  may  be  present,  and  working  simultane- 
ously at  opposite  ends  of  the  earth,  in  all  latitudes,  and 
in  all  lands  which  the  sun  visits  in  his  daily  circuit.  For 
this  purpose  he  is  here  to-day,  as  well  as  in  the  sunny 
plains  of  India,  and  in  the  dreary  wastes  of  the  frozen 
zones.  He  is  not  very  far  from  any  one  of  us ;  for  he 
has  said  to  his  ministers,  "Lo!  I  am  with  you  alway, 


186  SERMON  XVI. 

even  to  the  end  of  the  world,"  and  to  the  body  of  his 
Church,  "  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  together  in 
my  name,  there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them."  Oh 
yes,  he  is  as  truly  in  the  midst  of  this  assembly,  as 
he  was  in  that  that  pressed  upon  his  steps  as  he  w^ent 
to  the  house  of  Jairus,  with  as  compassionate  a  heart, 
with  as  quick  discernment,  with  as  effectual  power. 
He  is  here  as  a  healer;  and  we  are  all  a  company  of 
diseased  and  dying  sinners,  who  have  as  great  need  of 
healing  as  the  woman,  and  who,  if  we  have  not  been  to 
him,  have  spent  our  money  and  time  in  efforts  to  obtain 
healing  from  others,  as  fruitlessly.  We  are  nothing 
bettered,  but  have  rather  grown  worse.  To  us,  other 
healers  are  "physicians  of  no  value;"  for  their  know- 
ledge and  their  power  reach  not  to  such  maladies  as 
ours.  Yes,  here  we  are,  and  He  in  the  midst  of  us, 
touching  him  all,  the  most  part,  it  is  to  be  feared,  as 
thoughtlessly  and  unconsciously  and  uselessly  as  those 
did  who  carelessly  jostled  him  when  he  walked  over 
the  high-ways  of  Palestine.  And  there  are  among  us, 
it  is  trusted,  at  least  a  few,  who  touch  him  of  purpose, 
who  have  come  to  touch  him,  who  touch  him  with  the 
touch  of  faith,  who  with  deep  abasement  and  trembling 
hope,  are  laying  hold  upon  the  hem  of  his  garment, 
and  crying  in  the  depth  of  their  souls,  "Jesus,  thou  Son 
of  David,  have  mercy  upon  us!"  And  oh!  let  not  one 
such  doubt  that  on  their  timid  approach  he  turns  a  be- 
nignant smile,  that  there  goeth  forth  virtue  from  him 
and  healeth  them,  that  he  speaks  to  them  in  words  of 
condescension  and  welcome,  "Thy  faith 'hath  made  thee 
whole;  go  in  peace,  and  be  whole  from  thy  plague;" 
for  he  hath  said,  "  Him  that  cometh  to  me  I  will  in  no 


THE  TOUCH  OF  FAITH.  187 

"wise  cast  out."  Yes,  if  we  have  come  hither  weighed 
down  with  a  sense  of  unworthiness  and  weakness, 
whatsoever  plague,  whatsoever  sickness  there  be,  if 
our  hearts  are  sore  and  aching  with  afflictions  and  losses, 
if  we  are  weary  of  the  world,  and  long  to  find  some 
strong  and  steadfast  resting-place  for  our  fainting 
spirits,  behold,  he  stands  in  our  midst  and  cries,  "  If  any 
man  thirst,  let  him  come  unto  me  and  drink."  ^'  Come 
unto  me,  all  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy-laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest."  Whether  we  are  benefited  by 
being  here  or  not,  depends  all  on  the  working  of  our 
hearts,  whether  they  are  recognising  him,  applying  to 
him,  resting  upon  him,  drawing  near  to  him  with  a  living, 
contrite,  earnest  faith,  to  ask  of  him  ''those  things 
which  are  requisite  and  necessary  as  well  for  the  body 
as  the  soul." 

You  see  then,  my  beloved  brethren,  how  the  view 
into  which  we  have  been  drawn,  of  this  affecting  inci- 
dent of  our  Lord's  life,  answers  the  purpose  of  a  very 
clear  and  solemn  discrimination,  how  it  sorts  us  into 
two  classes,  and  tells  us,  if  we  will  heed  its  teaching, 
unequivocally,  to  which  of  these  classes  we  belong. 

Of  the  crowd  that  followed  Jesus  by  the  way,  a  great 
number  received  from  him  no  benefit  at  all.  For  it 
was  not  the  being  where  he  was,  nor  the  being  near 
him,  nor  the  being  thrust  into  casual  contact  with  his 
garments  or  his  flesh,  that  did  men  good.  There 
was  no  mysterious  influence  encircling  him,  that  shed 
blessings  on  all  men  who  came  within  its  sphere,  nor 
any  medical  virtue  in  his  person  or  in  his  raiment, 
that  wrought  miracles  of  healing  by  their  touch.     The 


188  SERMON  XVI. 

multitude  that  had  been  around  him  went  away  with 
their  maladies  uncured,  unmitigated.  There  was  but 
one  indeed  whose  contact  he  would  call  a  touch,  for  in 
one  only  was  there  more  than  the  contact  of  matter 
with  matter,  even  the  commerce  of  soul  with  soul. 
Mental  eyes  did  not  make  the  discrimination :  even  the 
eyes  of  disciples  did  not.  It  is  so  even  now,  for  we  can- 
not tell  in  our  assembly  who  they  are  that  are  coming 
to  Christ  in  faith ;  but  it  shall  be  told  of  us  in  the  end, 
as  it  was  of  the  woman.  It  is  not  our  being  here, 
our  having  to  do  here  with  prayer  books,  and  pos- 
tures, and  sermons,  and  the  bread  and  wine,  and  the 
water  in  the  font,  that  will  do  us  any  good.  These 
are  but  the  visibilities  of  Christ's  presence  in  his 
church,  the  raiment  in  which  he  shows  himself  to  the 
eyes  of  our  flesh.  If  we  come  with  any  hope  of  good 
merely  from  coming,  while  we  have  no  deep  sense  of 
want,  and  no  lively  resort  to  him  for  its  supply,  it  is 
but  superstition.  We  shall  go  as  we  came,  and  Christ 
shall  profit  us  nothing.  So  is  it  with  all  careless  and 
heartless  coming  into  the  presence  of  Christ. 

But  there  was  one  in  the  crowd  who  touched  him 
with  the  touch  of  faith,  and  who  was  turned  into  a  new 
creature.  She  passed  from  death  unto  life.  She  was 
bidden  to  go  in  peace,  and  the  long  absent  flow  and 
vigour  of  health  were  felt  in  all  her  frame.  Notice, 
how  this  faith  of  hers,  which  made  her  approach  to  Him 
so  beneficial,  operated.  She  did  not  despise  the  out- 
ward, while  she  employed  the  inward.  She  did  not 
stand  proudly  or  skeptically  aloof,  as  though  she  were 
to  have  relief  by  mere  feeling  and  believing.     She 


THE  TOUCH  OF  FAITH.  189 

used  visible  means.     She  approached  him  corporeally 
and  touched  the  hem  of  his  garment;  but  there  was  a 
living  faith  in  the  touch,  and  this  drew  forth  the  living 
power  that  healed  her.    A  naked  faith  had  done  her  no 
good.     An  unbelieving  touch  had  done  her  no  good. 
The  touch  of  faith  healed  her.  Oh !  what  a  lesson  is  here. 
Here  we  are  to-daj  by  Christ's  appointment  to  meet  him, 
and  he  is  visibly  represented  to  us  in  his  ordinances. 
But  thoughtless,  unfeeling,  skeptical  minds  will  get  no 
good  from  them.     And  yet,  ordinarily,  the  faith  that 
neglects  them  proves  itself  spurious  and  insufficient. 
But  is  there  one  here  in  the  presence  of  Christ's  own 
ordinances  and  means  of  salvation,  mighty  to  save,  who 
is  sorrowful  and  needs  a  comforter  ?     Let  him  touch  the 
Kedeemer's  robe  with  humble  faith,  and  healing  virtue 
shall'  come  forth  to  assuage  his  sorrows  and  bind  up 
his  broken  heart.     Above  all,  is  there  one  here  who  is 
touched  with  a  sense  of  sin,  who  feels  it  a  burden  and 
a  curse,  who  knows  not  how  to  rid  himself  of  its  guilt 
and  tyranny,  who  cannot  do  the  things  that  he  would? 
There  is  one  here  that  can  help  and  save.     Touch  him, 
touch  him  with  an  humble  and  undoubting  faith.    His 
healing  virtue  shall  answer  to  your  touch.     His  gra- 
cious voice  shall  whisper,  "Go  in  peace;  be  whole  of 
thy  plague." 


17 


190  SERMON  XVII. 


SERMON   XVII. 


ANOTHER   HEART. 


And  it  was  so,  that  -when  lie  had  turned  his  back  to  go  from  Samuel, 
God  gave  him  another  heart:  and  all  those  signs  came  to  pass  that 
day. — 1  Samuel  x.  9. 

But  not  a  hetter  heart.  Nothing  in  his  subsequent 
history  indicates  that.  Another  heart  is  not  then  ne- 
cessarily "a  new  heart,"  in  the  spiritual  sense  of  that 
term.  Saul's  interview  with  Samuel  had  wrought  a 
great  and  sudden  change  in  his  outward  condition.  It 
had  transformed  him  from  a  rustic  stripling,  a  raw 
country  lad,  into  a  king.  It  appears  from  the  text, 
that  a  correspondent  internal  change  accompanied  the 
alteration.  He  found  himself  suddenly  fitted  for  the 
new  place  to  which  Providence  had  summoned  him.  In 
this  there  was  nothing  magical  or  extraordinary.  It 
is  indeed  said,  that  God  gave  him  another  heart,  but 
we  are  not  to  understand  the  words  as  indicating  a  di- 
vine operation  independent  of  outward  means  and  na- 
tural influences,  or  at  all  distinguishable,  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  its  subject,  from  the  effects  of  external 
circumstances.  It  is  not  more  true,  that  the  man 
makes  the  place,  than  that  the  place  makes  the  man. 
Both,  indeed,  are  most  pregnant  and  concerning  truths. 
Saul,  transplanted  into  a  new  station,  brought  into  new 
relations  to  life  and  society,  felt  the  simultaneous  up- 


ANOTHER  HEART.  191 

springing  within  him  of  sentiments  and  purposes  suited 
to  his  position,  and  became  conscious  of  capabilities 
which  had  before  lain  dormant,  and  might  have  always 
remained  so,  but  for  this  transformation  of  his  outward 
state.  Made  a  king,  he  became  kingly.  His  soul  ex- 
panded to  the  horizon  of  his  new  dignity  and  office. 
He  felt  within  him  the  working  of  thoughts  and  feelings 
appropriate  to  them.  A  sense  of  novel  responsibilities, 
aspirations,  capacities,  purposes,  sprang  up  in  his  bosom. 
There  was  a  development  of  powers  needful  to  his 
work.  And  he  who  went  forth  to  seek  his  father's 
asses,  with  no  higher  thoughts  than  those  which  fitted 
his  obscure  position  and  humble  errand,  went  home 
with  a  mind  full  of  the  germinating  seeds  of  high  pur- 
poses, mighty  deeds,  and  glorious  achievements.  Poor 
Saul!  His  story  is  full  of  melancholy  interest  and 
monitory  instruction.  If,  when  there  came  to  him  an- 
other heart,  there  had  also  been  given  him  a  new  and 
better  heart,  how  different  might  have  been  his  career. 
Then,  would  there  have  been  honour,  where  there  is 
only  disgrace.  Then,  might  he  have  left  his  name  for 
a  word  of  blessing,  instead  of  a  curse  unto  God's  chosen. 
But,  alas !  there  was  no  spiritual  element  in  his  change, 
and,  therefore,  it  yielded  no  happy  fruit  to  him,  or  to 
the  church  of  God.  It  was  but  the  direction  of  the 
same  earthly  mind  to  larger  objects,  grander  schemes, 
a  wider  range.  It  yielded  no  better  results  than  a 
mad  ambition,  a  frantic  jealousy,  a  life  of  torture,  and 
a  death  of  disgrace. 

We  may  properly  take  occasion  from  this  case,  to 
discriminate  between  certain  other  changes  to  which 


192  SERMON  XVII. 

the  spirit  of  man  is  subject,  and  that  great  spiritual 
change  which  alone  affects  him  savingly,  planting  in 
him  the  germ  of  holiness  and  immortal  felicity ;  or  to 
point  out  the  difference  between  another  heart  and  a 
new  heart. 

And,  first,  I  will  direct  your  attention  to  the  nature 
and  effects  of  spurious  religious  excitement.  You  will 
observe  that  I  say  nothing  against  excitement,  whether 
solitary  or  social ;  but  only  point  you  to  some  mischie- 
vous effects  which  are  incident  to  it,  and  which  not 
unfrequently  are  actually  developed  in  connexion  with 
it.  There  is  excitement  almost  necessarily  in  the  se- 
rious and  earnest  contemplation  of  religious  truth. 
Its  revelations  are  fitted  to  stir  the  spirit  of  man 
deeply ;  the  interests  to  which  it  pertains  are  too  mo- 
mentous to  be  contemplated  without  emotion.  They 
address  themselves  powerfully  to  the  imagination ;  and 
through  it,  act  upon  our  physical  nature,  and  stir  our 
animal  sensibilities.  The  effect  is  heightened  by  society. 
The  nature  of  men  is  sympathetic.  Hence  feeling  is 
contagious,  and  not  only  so,  but  excitement,  where  it 
exists  already,  rises,  by  the  reacting  influence  of  those 
who  come  within  its  sphere  and  imbibe  its  infection. 
But  excitement  is  bounded  by  limits  fixed  in  the  con- 
stitution of  our  nature;  and  when  these  are  reached, 
a  revulsion  takes  place,  which  issues  either  in  stagna- 
tion, or  in  a  new  excitement  of  a  different  descrip- 
tion. The  mind  sinks  from  terror  into  apathy;  or 
else  shifts  its  view  and  becomes  agitated  with  a  new 
set  of  emotions  suited  to  its  new  discoveries,  when 
distress  gives  place  to  transport,  alarm  to  assurance, 


ANOTHER  HEART.  193 

and  entreaties  to  grateful  songs.    And  when  these  op- 
posite emotions  are  produced  by  religious  causes,  they 
are   thought  to  indicate  a  work  of  the  Spirit  and  in- 
volve conversion.     And  we  do  not  say  that  there  may 
not  be  a  work  of  the  Spirit  involved  in  them,  and  the 
germ  of  a  new  life  implanted  under  them.    But  we  do 
say,  that  necessarily,  they  indicate  no  more  than  the 
spontaneous  action  of  the  mind,  seeking  relief  after  in- 
tense and  finally  intolerably  painful  direction  to  the 
frowning  and  terrific  aspect  of  truth,  in  looking  with 
a  proportionate  intensity  and  delight  at  its  more  in- 
viting and  consolatory  features.     It  is  quite  remarka- 
ble, how  little  the  moral  and  truly  spiritual  nature  of 
man  may  have  to  do  with  such  a  process,  how  little  of 
anything  else  there  may  be  in  it  beside  imagination 
and  nervous  sensibility.     And  yet,  on  the  strength  of 
it,  a  man   often   accounts  himself  a  new  man ;  and, 
whether  he  be  right  in  that  judgment  or  not,  not  un- 
frequently,  he  thereupon  becomes  and  permanently  re- 
mains another  man.     His  life  henceforward  assumes 
a  new  bent.     He  adopts  new  opinions,  he  talks  a  new 
language,  he  affects  new  associates,  he  frequents  new 
walks,  he  lends  himself  to  the  promotion  of  new  inte- 
rests.    And  yet  he  is  not  a  new  man.     Only  his  out- 
ward life  has  taken  a  new  impress,  as  Saul's  did,  in 
which  the  same  worldly  spirit  finds  a  concealment  and 
disguise.     He  has,  in  the  apt  language  of  the  parable, 
"no  root  in   himself;"  and  so  his  superficial  change 
soon  disappears,  or  else  continues  in  the  mechanical 
life-long  working   out  of  a  false   supposition.     When 
the  mind  is  for  a  considerable  time  together  directed 


194  SERMON  XVII. 

to  the  contemplation  of  the  Divine  Being,  and  exclu- 
ded from  the  operation  of  causes  and  circumstances 
which  makes  it  conscious  of  its  opposition  to  the  di- 
vine will,  there  will,  after  a  struggle,  more  or  less  pro- 
longed with  habitual  fear  and  repugnancy,  oftentimes 
spring  up  a  sentiment  of  admiration  and  delight,  easily 
mistaken  for  that  true  love  of  God,  which  also  in- 
cludes an  acquiescence  in  his  will  and  a  conformity 
to  his  requirements. 

But  when  the  man  returns  to  the  ordinary  business 
of  life,  and  the  will  of  God  comes  to  him  in  the  practi- 
cal demands  of  duty,  he  may  find  that  his  old  aversion 
to  restraint  and  obedience  remains  unaltered ;  that  the 
vision  he  has  had  of  a  celestial  beauty  has  no  power 
to  sweeten  life's  task ;  and  that  he  has  not  attained  to 
true  liberty,  which  lies  in  a  doing  of  the  will  of  God 
from  the  heart.  It  is  an  aspect  of  God  and  not  God 
himself  that  he  has  fallen  in  love  with,  and  an  aspect 
which  will  not  carry  its  sweetness  with  it  to  those 
other  aspects  which  ordinary  life  forces  him  to  behold. 
And  yet,  carried  away  by  the  delusion,  that  what  he 
once  felt  so  vividly  was  a  true  turning  "from  darkness 
unto  light  and  from  the  power  of  Satan  unto  God,"  he 
continues  to  feed  upon  it,  and  goes  on  his  way  in  a 
course  of  irregular  and  cheerless  submission  to  disagree- 
able restraints  and  wearisome  and  distasteful  services, 
bound  upon  him  by  consistency  with  his  supposed  con- 
version, and  needful  to  the  maintenance  of  his  hope 
and  self-complacency. 

There  is  another  very  difi'erent  transformation  to 
which  men  are  subject,  which  yet  is  of  no  greater 


ANOTHEE  HEART.  195 

value ;  and  tends  to  no  better  results, — that  wliich  is 
brought  about  by  the  slow  operation  of  time  and  the 
gradual  alteration  of  outward  circumstances.  The 
lesson  of  life  is  a  sobering  lesson.  The  fire  of  youth 
burns  out  as  the  period  of  youth  expires.  The  world 
betrays  its  emptiness  and  mendacity.  Time  brings  the 
disappointment  of  failure,  and  the  worse  disappoint- 
ment of  success.  A  thousand  bright  hues,  which  the 
future  wears  to  the  ardent  and  sanguine,  fade  away  as 
they  advance,  and  the  prospect  of  the  wayfarer  grows 
every  day  more  dingy  and  sombre.  There  are  a 
thousand  things  which  he  meant  to  be  or  to  get,  which 
he  is  forced  to  yield  up  the  hope  of  becoming  or  pos- 
sessing. Every  day  some  leaf  falls  from  the  flower 
he  is  seeking  to  grasp.  Continually  the  stern  hand  of 
irresistible  Providence  shuts  up  some  avenue  that  al- 
lures his  steps.  But  the  worst  disappointment,  as  I 
have  already  hinted,  is  that  which  waits  upon  success, — 
the  bitter  pain  of  finding  a  thing,  when  it  is  gotten,  not 
worth  the  pains  of  getting.  And  who  does  not  find 
his  expectations  illusory  in  this  way,  and  feel  the  ap- 
plication to  himself  of  the  prophet's  saying:  "He 
feedeth  on  ashes :  a  deceived  heart  hath  turned  him 
aside."  The  result  is  a  failure,  to  a  sad  degree,  of 
earthly  hope.  Life  loses  its  gayety  as  it  moves  on. 
It  becomes  graver,  quieter,  more  thoughtful  and  serious, 
— not  always  indeed  and  invariably,  for  there  are  those 
whose  frivolity  clings  to  them  to  the  end  of  life, — but 
often  and  naturally.  And  yet  this  sober  spirit  may 
be  full  of  bitterness  and  discontent  and  envy,  utterly 
devoid  of  all  resignation  towards  God,  or  charity  to- 
wards men. 


196  SERMON  XVII. 

Sometimes  there  is  but  a  change  of  follies  and 
vices,  the  substitution  of  a  calmer  and  more  private 
form  of  sensuality  or  dissipation  for  another  of  a  more 
boisterous  and  public  character ;  but  the  impress  of  sin 
and  worldliness  remains,  and  is  too  visible  to  allow  the 
supposition  of  any  moral  improvement.  It  may  be, 
that  the  life,  never  stained  with  any  flagrant  violations 
of  propriety  and  virtue,  has  attained  a  form  of  irre- 
proachable decorum,  or,  if  less  incorrupt  at  first,  has 
shaken  off  its  blemishes,  and  stands  forth  a  pattern  of 
decency  and  exact  morals. 

The  result  of  time  upon  human  character  is  very 
various,  yet  it  seldom  fails  in  one  way  or  another  to 
be  evident  and  marked,  and  among  persons  whose 
course  is  not  an  abandoned  one,  is  generally  distin- 
guished by  a  nearer  approximation  to  the  apparent 
effects  of  religion ;  and  thus  few  men  live  on  over  the 
meridian  of  life  without  coming  to  have  another  heart, 
one  which,  in  many  instances,  it  may  not  be  very  diffi- 
cult for  themselves  or  others  to  mistake  for  a  new  and 
a  better  heart.  And  we  are  very  far  from  doubting, 
that  in  not  a  few  cases,  the  impression  is  not  a  mistake, 
that  disappointment  and  decay  do  lead  the  soul  to 
seek  "the  true  riches,"  that  the  heart  does  turn  from 
its  "broken  cisterns  that  can  hold  no  water  "  to  "the 
fountain  of  living  water."  God  works  a  spiritual 
change  along  with  and  by  means  of  that  natural  change 
which  experience  and  the  progress  of  the  physical  con- 
stitution bring.  But  to  have  become  disgusted  with 
the  world,  ceased  to  relish  its  pleasures,  and  attained 
a  more  even,  sedate,  steady  temper  of  mind  and  habit 


ANOTHER  HEART.  197 

of  life,  is  not  necessarily  to  have  drawn  any  nearer 
God,  or  become  meeter  for  life  eternal.  There  may  be 
as  unspiritual  and  worldly  a  frame  beneath  these,  as 
under  his  previous  fashion  of  life.  And  even  where 
religion  seems  to  mingle  in  the  result,  it  may  be  only  a 
taking  on  of  its  forms,  without  the  feeling  of  its  power, 
or  the  love  of  its  duties,  an  enforced  preparation  for 
a  dread  event  impending,  or  a  resort  to  it  as  the  solace 
of  vacant  and  heavy-hanging  hours,  the  varnish  that 
sanctifies  an  unconquered  idolatry  or  an  unsubmissive 
and  rebellious  heart,  or  the  penance  that  painfully  ex- 
piates the  faults  and  follies  of  happier  days. 

A  mere  sobering  of  a  man  then,  even  though  it  be 
recommended  by  a  tincture  of  religious  feeling  and 
observance,  may  as  little  prove  him  the  subject  of  a 
true  renewing  in  the  spirit  of  his  mind,  as  that  change 
in  his  habits  of  thought  and  action  which  comes  as  the 
fruit  of  high  excitement  and  sudden  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing. 

What,  I  said,  may  be  wanting  in  either  of  these,  is 
a  spiritual  element ;  and  as  the  absence  of  this  fatally 
vitiates  these  cases,  and  every  other  case  where  it  ap- 
pears, so  its  presence  in  either  of  them,  or  in  any  other 
change  which  the  soul  of  man  may  undergo,  declares 
the  work  to  be  of  God,  and  furnishes  a  true  mark  of 
meetness  for  life  eternal.  Let  us  then  look  a  little 
at  this  as  it  stands  contradistinguished  from  all  alter- 
ations, whose  seat  is  either  the  imagination  or  the  out- 
ward deportment,  whose  affinity  to  religion  is  limited 
to  a  certain  accidental  coincidence  or  similarity  in 
some  particulars,  and  whose  religious  phases  are  con- 


198  SERMON  XVII. 

fined  to  the  inferior  and  superficial  portion  of  human 
nature.  Real  religion  takes  hold  of  the  deep  princi- 
ples and  afi*ections  of  the  soul,  and  through  them  cor- 
rects and  spiritualizes  the  tenor  of  the  outward  prac- 
tice. For  the  sake  of  making  my  meaning  more  plain, 
I  will  run  the  doctrine  out  into  a  few  particulars. 

And  first,  look  at  this  change  in  reference  to  the 
effect  upon  the  heart  of  the  grand  and  peculiar  features 
of  the  Gospel.  An  irreligious  mind  has  either  no  clear 
or  definite  views  of  the  scheme  of  salvation  by  Jesus 
Christ ;  or  if  it  comprehends  it  intellectually,  and  is 
able  to  think  and  speak  of  it  with  a  scientific  precision, 
it  does  not  perceive  and  feel  its  fitness  and  necessity. 
It  wears  an  arbitrary  appearance.  It  does  not  seem 
to  be  an  emanation  of  Divine  wisdom,  but  a  creation 
of  Divine  power,  and  it  views  it  as  a  system  which  is 
to  be  admitted  and  conformed  to,  because  it  bears  upon 
it  the  signature  of  Divine  authority,  rather  than  wel- 
comed and  admired,  for  its  infinite  suitableness  and 
perfect  adaptation  to  the  condition  of  man  and  its  own 
felt  necessity.  The  Gospel  is  unreal  to  it.  But  with 
the  rise  of  spiritual  afi'ections  the  film  is  cleared  away. 
The  truths  of  the  Gospel  come  forth  from  their  obscuri- 
ty and  vagueness,  and  the  heart  at  once  learns  what 
they  are,  loses  its  indiff'erence  to  them,  appreciates 
their  value,  loves  them,  and  lives  upon  them.  I  do  not 
say  that  all  this  is  done  at  once.  The  development 
may  be  very  gradual.  But  whenever  there  is  this  spi- 
ritual enlightenment,  and  the  soul  begins  to  have  in- 
sight into  and  interest  in  the  way  of  salvation  by 
Jesus  Christ,  it  is  begun,  and  savingly  begun. 


ANOTHER  HEART.  199 

Take,  for  instance,  such  a  simple  formulary  of  belief 
as  the  Apostles'  Creed,  and  see  how  the  up-springing  of 
a  spiritual  faith  will  turn  it  from  a  congeries  of  cold 
facts  or  ill-understood  words,  into  a  system  of  living 
and  life-giving  verities.  The  mind  that  feels  that  *'  it 
is  a  faithful  saying  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation,  that 
Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,"  and 
turns  to  it,  in  its  aching  sense  of  want  and  unworthiness, 
as  to  the  "shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land," 
is  not  only  ''not  far  from  the  kingdom  of  God,"  but  is 
certainly  within  its  precincts.  Oh !  let  not  any  heart 
here,  that  feels  its  need  of  a  Redeemer  and  thanks 
God  for  the  gift  of  one,  deem  itself  destitute  of  the 
grace  of  God,  or  cut  off  from  any  hope  or  privilege  of 
the  Gospel. 

Look,  secondly,  at  this  change  in  respect  to  the 
power  and  influence  of  the  divine  will  upon  the  soul. 
The  spirit  of  religion  is  an  obedient  spirit.  The  spirit 
of  irreligion  is  a  disobedient  spirit.  Not  that  the  ir- 
religious man  is  necessarily  at  least  in  the  outward 
aspect  of  his  life  a  disobedient  man.  Nay,  so  far  as 
literal  conformity  is  concerned,  his  obedience  may  be 
as  punctilious  and  thorough  as  that  of  the  saint.  But 
then  his  conformity  is  either  accidental  or  constrained. 
Neither  of  these  indicates  a  principle  of  obedience,  an 
inward  conformity.  If  a  child  pursue  a  course  of  con- 
duct coincident  with  its  parent's  will  purely  for  its 
own  gratification,  that  is  not  obedience ;  or  if  it  com- 
plies with  his  commands  simply  from  fear  of  punish- 
ment, that  is  not  obedience.  Man's  eyes  may  not 
distinguish  it  from  obedience,  but  it  is  not  obedience. 
Obedience  requires  a;  filial  and  submissive  heart.    When 


200  SERMON  XVII. 

then  there  springs  up  in  the  soul  a  real  desire  to  know 
the  will  of  God  and  to  conform  to  it,  a  sincere  disposi- 
tion and  purpose  to  do  the  behests  of  its  Father  in  hea- 
ven, from  the  persuasion  and  sense  that  God  is  good 
and  his  will  good  and  acceptable  and  perfect.  Oh !  there 
is  "the  spirit  of  adoption  that  cries  Abba,  Father." 
Weak,  tottering  it  may  be,  but  it  is  real,  and  is  the  be- 
ginning of  salvation.  There  is  the  recognition  of  a  new 
authority,  the  acknowledgment  of  a  new  rule.  The 
man  does  the  same  act  for  a  different  reason.  Oh  !  my 
dear  brethren,  whoever  of  you  is  cherishing  a  sincere 
desire,  and  putting  forth  a  hearty  endeavour,  to  serve 
God,  is  surely  beginning  to  be  a  new  man,  is  gaining 
an  emancipation  from  the  power  of  that  "  spirit  who 
worketh  in  the  children  of  disobedience." 

Look,  thirdly,  at  this  change  as  it  affects  a  man's 
view  of  eternity.  The  view  of  the  worldly  man  is  com- 
prised within  the  bounds  of  time.  If  he  ever  looks 
beyond  it,  it  is  with  a  stealthy  and  uneasy  glance. 
Here  centre  his  hopes,  his  aims,  his  interests.  Here 
he  has  taken  up  his  rest,  and  on  what  he  finds  here 
he  reposes  his  affections  and  expends  his  energies. 
All  beyond  is  a  dark  chasm,  peopled  only  with  phan- 
tom shapes,  and  filled  with  shadows  and  unsubstantial 
objects.  There  is  a  quickening  of  that  man's  spiritual 
nature  to  whom  eternity  comes  forth  out  of  this  vague 
and  unreal  condition,  and  becomes  a  near  and  interest- 
ing reality,  full  of  interests  for  which  he  would  fain 
make  provision,  to  be  habitually  borne  in  mind  and 
cared  for,  to  secure  the  benefit  of  which  he  counts  it 
a  privilege  to  live  and  labour.     Where  the  thought  of 


ANOTHER  HEART.  201 

eternity  takes  possession  of  the  mind,  and  becomes  an 
influential  consideration,  a  motive  of  self-denial  and 
exertion,  there  is  an  escape  from  the  grovelling  spirit  of 
the  world,  there  is  a  looking  upon  the  things  that  are 
not  seen,  a  walking  by  faith  and  not  by  sight.  True, 
the  apprehension  of  eternity  may  be  faint  and  fluctu- 
ating. The  obtrusive  world  may  often  crowd  before 
it,  and  obscure  the  spiritual  vision.  But  the  sense  of 
immortality  remains.  The  interests  of  another  world 
are  kept  in  view.  There  is  an  habitual  intention  to 
regard  them  and  care  for  them.  And  the  abiding  im- 
pression of  the  soul  is  that  here  we  are  strangers  and 
pilgrims,  and  have  no  continuing  city,  but  seek  one  to 
come. 

Ah,  brethren,  where  such  thoughts  of  Christ  and 
duty  and  the  unseen  world,  have  arisen  in  the  soul, 
God  hath  given  not  only  another,  but  a  new  and  better 
heart,  and  begun  a  good  work  which  he  is  pledged  to 
carry  on  unto  the  day  of  Jesus  Christ. 


18 


202  SERMON  XVIII. 


SERMON  XYIII. 

UNCLOTHED    AND    RECLOTHED. 

Earnestly  desiring  to  be  clothed  upon  with  our  house  which  is  from 
heaven :  if  so  be  that  being  clothed  we  shall  not  be  found  naked. 
—2  Cor.  v.  23. 

The  apostle,  then,  does  not  account  this  flesh  of  ours, 
which  -we  so  dote  upon  and  pamper,  as  anj  part  of  our- 
selves. It  is  but  a  garment;  we  may  lay  it  aside, 
and  yet  the  integrity  of  our  being  and  life  remain  un- 
impaired. Death  is  but  the  unclothing  of  the  man, 
the  passing  into  a  state  of  temporary  nudity,  which  we 
look  upon  with  apprehension,  perhaps,  chiefly  because 
of  its  strangeness  and  contrariety  to  our  present  habits 
and  sentiments,  in  consequence  of  which,  it  seems  to 
us,  it  may  be,  very  erroneously,  a  condition  of  depriva- 
tion and  disadvantage.  But  the  raiment  that  we 
lay  aside  is  in  due  time  to  be  replaced  by  a  vesture 
which  is  to  be  purer,  more  excellent  and  glorious. 
Meanwhile,  life  continues,  divested  of  none  of  its  es- 
sential attributes,  hindered  in  none  of  its  characteristic 
functions.  The  stream  of  life  runs  on  through  all  these 
changes  in  a  continuous  and  unbroken  flow.  The  body 
is  but  the  garment  of  the  soul,  as  the  clothes  we  wear 
are  the  garments  of  the  flesh.  They  diff*er,  as  to 
their  relations  to  that  which  constitutes  our  proper 
selves,   but  as  outer  and  inner  attire.     The  one  we 


UNCLOTHED  AND  RECLOTHED.  203 

change  often,  and  frequently  put  on  and  off,  lay  aside 
and  replace  at  the  bidding  of  our  own  caprice  or  fancy 
or  convenience.  The  other  we  change  once  for  all, 
when  God  wills,  putting  it  off  then,  that  we  may  put  it 
on  again  renovated  and  improved  to  wear  it  eternally. 
Disembodying  as  little  interrupts  the  continuity  of  our 
being  as  undressing;  and  all  that  constitutes  our  true 
life  is  as  little  hurt  by  our  lying  down  in  our  graves 
as  by  our  lying  down  in  our  beds.  The  recollection 
of  this  is  a  proper  and  wholesome  habit  of  mind.  It 
cools  the  fever  of  earthly  desire  and  hope,  and  lifts  us 
up  to  an  impressive  and  practical  sense  of  our  spirit- 
ualness  and  immortality.  It  makes  us  feel  that  what 
is  material,  visible  and  bodily,  is  not  all  that  is  real 
about  us,  nay,  that  this  is  far  less  real  than  that  which 
is  hidden  beneath  these  temporal  and  temporary  ha- 
biliments. ''  The  world  passeth  away  and  the  lust  there- 
of, but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  God  abideth  for  ever." 
We  then, — this  is  the  great  central  truth  to  be  borne 
in  mind  in  the  discussion  of  this  subject — are  altogether 
separate  and  distinct  from  any  form  or  description  of 
material  structure,  with  which  we  may  be  at  one  time 
or  another  associated.  Such  association,  then,  is  but 
an  accident  of  our  being,  not  essential  to  it,  is  tempora- 
ry, is  not  so  intimate,  as,  while  it  lasts,  to  create  an  ab- 
solute dependence,  nor,  upon  its  cessation,  to  destroy  or 
interrupt  our  existence.  We  may  live  in  the  flesh; 
we  may  live  out  of  the  flesh ;  or  we  may  live  in  some 
organism  different  from  the  flesh.  The  existence  of 
the  being,  man  is  no  more  implicated  in  the  fate  of  his 
body,  than  that  of  his  body  is  in  the  fashion  and  tex- 


204  SERMON  XVIII. 

ture  of  his  garments.  Man  is  man,  roaming  unclothed, 
wrapped  in  furs,  or  arrayed  in  the  elaborate  and  va- 
riable attire  which  marks  the  taste,  the  ingenuity  or 
the  caprice  of  civilized  life.  In  all  these  various  guises 
he  is  the  same  soul  in  the  same  fleshly  covering.  We 
live  associated  with  matter  in  different  degrees  of  prox- 
imity. There  is  the  whole  external  world,  the  solid 
earth  beneath,  the  overarching  heavens  above,  in  some 
sense,  our  abode;  there  is  that  portion  of  it  which  w^e 
call  our  country,  and  within  that,  the  city  or  town  that 
we  inhabit;  there  is  the  structure  whose  walls  and  roof 
form  our  ordinary  shelter  from  the  elements,  the  house 
"we  live  in,  in  a  stricter  sense,  our  home ;  there  are  the  fa- 
brics wrought  by  human  skill  and  industry  into  forms 
of  comfort,  convenience  and  beauty,  which  constitute 
our  raiment ;  and  closest  and  innermost  of  all  is  the 
flesh  itself,  fashioned  by  almighty  power  and  wisdom, 
"  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made,"  with  its  rich  furni- 
ture of  means  fitted  to  the  various  purposes  of  sensa- 
tion and  action  which  pertain  to  corporeal  existence. 
To  this  nearest  materiality  the  life  of  the  being  is  im- 
parted so  as  to  make  it  in  a  lower  sense  live  also.  Yet 
this  is  not  the  man,  save  by  a  metonymy,  just  as  we 
call  a  family,  a  house.  That,  dwells  within,  as  that 
central  essence,  which,  all  that  is  material,  with  succes- 
sive removes  of  distance  and  relationship,  enwraps 
and  surrounds. 

And  if  we  are  wont,  in  our  common  habits  of  thought, 
to  account  that  inner  layer  of  matter  which  constitutes 
the  body  or  the  flesh,  part  of  ourselves,  and  dignify  it 
with  the  titles  and  honours  of  humanity;  it  is  only 


UNCLOTHED  AND  EECLOTHED.  205 

because  by  closer  union  with  it,  it  has  acquired  a  por- 
tion of  its  properties ;  because  in  anything  we  see  or 
know  of  life,  it  forms  its  invariable  and  indispensable 
instrument  of  manifestation,  communication  and  action ; 
and  because  in  all  our  experience  and  observation,  we 
see  humanity  in  that  permanent  connexion  with  it 
which  it  has  with  nothing  else  that  is  material.  And 
yet  what  is  the  permanency  of  three  score  years  and 
ten  to  an  immortal  being?  All  is  an  illusion.  A  sa- 
vage, who  for  the  first  time  saw  a  man  in  clothing,  might 
count  his  raiment  a  part  of  himself,  because  in  his  brief 
experience  of  civilized  man  he  had  never  seen  him 
without  it.  Our  experience  of  humanity  in  the  flesh  is 
brief,  quite  too  brief  to  be  a  criterion  of  judgment  in 
regard  to  its  relation  to  flesh,  or  its  capacity  of  exist- 
ing without  it.  Inspiration  rises  above  such  hasty  in- 
ductions, and  teaches  us  a  truer  philosophy  of  man. 
It  calls  his  flesh,  his  clothing  or  his  house,  borrowing  for 
illustration  two  of  those  other  surroundings  of  matter 
which  stand  in  the  next  two  degrees  of  proximity  to  him. 
The  eyes  are  windows,  while  the  perceptive  faculties  that 
espy  external  nature  through  them,  are  *'they  that 
look  out  of  the  windows."  The  mouth  is  *'the  door  of 
the  lips ; "  and  the  hands  are  "  the  keepers  of  the  house." 
So  again,  we  are  said  to  be  briefly  clothed  in  these  pe- 
rishable bodies,  temporarily  wrapped  about  with  these 
fleshly  habiliments.  Soon  we  are  to  be  denuded  of 
them,  and  live,  in  some  mysterious  way,  divested  alike 
of  their  incumbrance  and  their  ministration.  And 
hereafter  we  are  to  be  clothed  anew  in  that  unknown 
substance,  which  they  intimate  to  us  under  the  to  us 

18* 


206  SERMON  xviir. 

strangely  paradoxical  title  of  ''a  spiritual  body,"  and 
describe  to  us,  under  the  analogy  of  that,  -which  only 
serves  to  exalt  our  hopes  without  illuminating  our  con- 
ceptions, as  the  likeness  of  the  "  glorious  body  "  of  our 
Lord.  And  thus  it  disposes  the  whole  history  of  hu- 
manity, into  the  three  successive  stages,  of  its  being 
clothed,  unclothed  and  reclothed. 

We  are  first,  clothed.  We  come  into  this  world  en- 
veloped in  flesh,  and  we  abide  in  tlic  flesh  while  we 
continue  in  the  world.  This  is  our  state  of  mortality, 
that  is,  a  state  in  which  we  are  subject  to  death,  al- 
ways liable  to  death  and  exposed  to  death,  in  which 
symptoms  of  mortality  and  tendencies  to  dissolution 
continually  remind  us  that  we  are  appointed  to  die,  and 
render  us,  through  our  unconquerable  repugnance  to 
that  our  inevitable  destiny,  "all  our  life  time  subject 
to  bondage."  This  fleshly  covering  of  ours  is  alive  only 
by  its  alliance  with  spirit,  an  alliance  which  is  forced 
and  unnatural,  and  against  which  it  seems  as  it  were 
to  be  ever  rebelling,  and  by  unequivocal  signs  to  assert 
its  independence.  Yet,  through  this  flesh,  while  we 
live  in  it,  we  almost  exclusively  know  life,  its  sense 
and  organs  alone  give  us  access  to  the  external  world, 
whence  we  are  to  draw  pleasure  and  improvement. 
The  most  spiritual  acts  of  which  we  are  now  capable 
are  in  no  inconsiderable  measure  from  this  cause  car- 
nalized. Thought  and  feeling  in  their  freest  and  purest 
forms  never  rise  wholly  above  the  influence  of  the  body, 
and  are  entirely  free  from  the  stain  and  tincture  of 
the  flesh. 

We  know  not  very  well  where  lie  the  lines  that  se- 
parate the  animal  from  the  spiritual,  the  instinctive  from 

/ 


UNCLOTHED  AND  RECLOTHED.        207 

the  rational.  The  most  spiritual  ideas,  we  entertain  and 
express  only  in  terms  drawn  from  the  properties  and 
affections  of  matter;  and  these  metaphors  more  or  less 
discolour  and  distort  their  subject  by  importing  into 
them  qualities  derived  from  material  analogies.  Lan- 
guage enters  into  all  our  mental  operations;  and  we 
welcome  it  as  a  help,  for  it  not  only  brings  us  the  chief 
part  of  our  knowledge,  but  thought,  in  minds  so  modi- 
fied as  ours  are  by  their  connexion  with  matter,  without 
it  must  be  vague  and  indefinite.  But  yet,  as  language 
is  a  bodily  thing,  expressed  by  bodily  organs,  ad- 
dressed to  bodily  senses,  drawing  its  terms  from  the  per- 
ceptions and  appearances  of  nature,  when  it  becomes  the 
instrument  of  thought,  it  carries  with  it  into  the  mind 
the  images  of  the  world  it  comes  from ;  our  thinking  is 
but  an  imagined  hearing  and  uttering,  and  our  most 
abstract  mental  operations  retain  a  strong  infusion  of 
matter  through  that  semi-corporeal  faculty  of  speech  by 
which  alone  they  are  carried  on. 

There  can  be  no  question  that  flesh  and  spirit  in 
their  present  state  of  alliance  very  thoroughly  inter- 
penetrate one  another;  that  they  not  only  are  together, 
but  act  on  one  another  to  extensively  modify  and  in- 
fluence each  other's  properties  and  operations.  And 
yet  we  have  always  a  consciousness  more  or  less  distinct 
of  their  distinctness ;  that  they  might  be  disengaged 
without  destroying  our  existence  or  identity ;  that  we 
might  be  and  do  without  our  bodies  but  not  without 
our  spirits ;  that  their  connexion  is  contingent  and  not 
necessary;  that  it  might  cease  and  we  survive.  We 
have  ever  a  dim  sense  that  our  bodies  are  not  ourselves, 
but  our  spirits  are;  that  in  these  latter  our  proper 


208  SERMON  XVIIT. 

personality  and  identity  reside;  that  spirit  is  man; 
that  it  has  gathered  to  it  flesh  only  as  a  temporary  and 
accidental  appendage  and  apparel ;  and  that  death  is 
not  our  destruction  but  the  putting  off  our  mortal  bodies. 
This  seems  to  be  a  natural  sentiment  of  humanity;  at 
any  rate  it  seems  to  have  been  well  nigh  universal  in 
time  and  place ;  and  it  is,  I  take  it,  nothing  but  the 
soul's  own  consciousness  of  its  spirituality  and  indepen- 
dence of  matter,  obscured  and  deadened  by  the  cir- 
cumstances of  its  present  condition,  but  not  oblite- 
rated or  wholly  stifled.  It  comes  to  the  mind  sometimes 
like  a  dream  of  former  days,  or  an  indistinct  memory 
of  a  state  that  has  passed  away,  haunting  the  soul  with  a 
feeling  that  it  was  before  it  clothed  itself  in  flesh,  which 
is  in  fact  nothing  but  the  sense  of  what  it  is — a  thing 
different  from  flesh  and  capable  of  living  without  it — 
disguising  itself  in  the  semblance  of  a  seeming  recol- 
lection of  what  it  has  been. 

We  are  next,  unclothed.  This  is  the  second  stage 
in  the  history  of  humanity.  It  constitutes  the  state 
of  death.  To  this  we  are  rapidly  hastening.  On  every 
side  of  us  are  tokens  of  its  approach.  Within  us  are 
constantly  symptoms  and  premonitions  of  our  approach 
to  it.  "We  have  the  sentence  of  death  in  ourselves." 
Our  raiment  of  flesh  is  corruptible,  and  falls  continual- 
ly to  decay.  Time  and  the  needful  wear  of  existence 
waste  and  enfeeble  it.  Disease  weakens  its  power  of 
action  and  capacity  of  endurance.  Calamity  brings 
upon  it  sudden  demolition.  "We  dwell  in  houses  of 
clay,  and  are  crushed  before  the  moth."  "When  thou 
with  rebukes  dost  chasten  man  for  sin,  thou  makest  his 
beauty  to  consume  away  like  as  it  were  a  moth  fretting  a 


UNCLOTHED  AND  RECLOTHED.  209 

garment."  A  moth  fretting  a  garment!  meet,  descrip- 
tive emblem  of  human  decay !  This  curious  and  beau- 
tiful frame,  on  which  the  resources  of  almighty  wisdom, 
power  and  goodness  have  been  so  lavishly  expended, 
to  make  it  a  comely  and  convenient  abode  of  its  honour- 
able tenant,  like  the  fabrics  of  human  art  that  wrap  it 
round,  wears  out,  and  is  laid  aside  as  a  forsaken  ves- 
ture. Then,  "the  dust  returns  to  the  earth  as  it  was," 
and  the  honoured  and  pampered  flesh  says  "to  corrup- 
tion, Thou  art  my  father,  and  to  the  worm,  Thou  art  my 
mother  and  my  sister."  Then  we  become  unclothed. 
We  lose  the  garments  in  which  we  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  be  arrayed,  and  make  some  sort  of  shift  to 
live  without  them.  We  become  disembodied,  naked 
spirits.     Our  bodies  die,  not  we. 

This  figure  of  unclothing  is  extremely  expressive. 
It  indicates  our  entire  separateness  from  this  present 
bodily  organization.  Take  it  away,  and  we  remain 
still  our  perfect,  unimpaired  selves,  we  lose  nothing  that 
pertains  to  our  proper  being.  Its  integrity  is  still  com- 
plete and  unharmed.  It  has  undergone  no  mutilation 
or  reduction.  It  has  been  deprived  of  nothing  that 
was  not,  while  it  was  possessed,  barely  a  circumstance 
and  an  appendage,  and  that  if  it  seem  to  be  necessary 
to  well-being  if  not  to  being,  may  seem  so  only  from 
the  absence  of  all  experience  of  the  contrary.  A  sa- 
vage finds  the  clothing  of  the  civilized  man  as  much  a 
discomfort  to  him,  as  the  civilized  man  the  nudity  of 
the  savage.  We  are  greatly  prone  to  dread  and  dis- 
parage any  experience  which  is  contrary  to  our  own, 
and  the  more,  the  wider  the  remove  from  it.  But  as 
we  know  that  undressing  takes  away  no  organ  or  fa- 


210  SERMON  XVIII. 

cultj  of  the  body,  so  unbodying  destroys  no  function  or 
talent  of  the  soul.  And  a  man  disembodied  is  a  man 
still,  even  as  a  man  unclothed  is  a  man  still.  But  what 
is  this  second  stage  of  human  progress  ?  this  naked,  flesh- 
less  spirituality  of  the  soul  of  man,  separated  from  that 
apparatus  of  action  and  sensation  with  which  it  is  now 
conjoined?  We  live  close  upon  a  change  of  which  we 
have  neither  knowledge  nor  conception.  AYe  walk  by 
the  margin  of  a  state  of  which  we  can  gain  no  glimpse. 
Solemn,  impenetrable  mystery  broods  upon  it.  We 
only  know  that  it  is  life ;  that  in  it  we  are  ourselves, 
deprived  of  nothing  that  constitutes  our  essential  being 
or  its  due  possession  and  exercise, — consciousness, 
thought,  feeling,  activity.  Lord !  our  spirits  are  safe 
with  thee  in  other  worlds  as  in  this.  Father  of  spirits ! 
into  thy  hands  we  commend  our  spirits. 

Finally,  we  are  reclothed.  This  is  the  state  of  im- 
mortality, the  final  condition  of  man.  This  St.  Paul 
in  the  text  calls  "being  clothed  upon  with  our  house 
from  heaven,"  and  he  speaks  of  himself  as  "earnestly 
desiring  "it.  So  in  the  succeeding  verse  he  says:  "Not 
for  that  we  would  be  unclothed,  but  clothed  upon." 
And  in  Rom.  viii.,  he  describes  Christians  as  "groan- 
ing within  themselves,  waiting  for  the  adoption."  And 
what  was  this?  Not  deliverance  from  flesh,  but  "the 
redemption  of  our  bodies."  It  is  manifestly  then  his 
sentimeut  that  the  disembodied  state  is  one  of  com- 
parative disadvantage,  to  be  regarded  with  a  measure 
of  dislike;  and  that  the  state  of  reunion  to  a  ma- 
terial frame,  in  which  it  is  to  issue,  and  which  is  to  be 
the  ultimate  destiny  of  man,  is  to  be  greatly  desired 
in  preference.     And  yet,  in  our  experience  of  mate- 


UNCLOTHED  AND  RECLOTHED.        211 

riality  with  its  manifold  illg  and  infirmities,  we  hardly 
know  how  to  welcome  it  as  the  alternative  of  that 
naked  spirituality,  from  which  still,  in  our  utter  inexpe- 
rience of  it,  we  instinctively  shrink.  But  revelation 
teaches  us  that  the  body  that  shall  be,  will  be  such 
as  to  secure  the  advantages  of  a  body  without  its 
troubles.  Two  things  seem  to  be  distinctly  affirmed 
of  it.  It  is  to  issue  in  some  such  way  out  of  this  pre- 
sent material  organization  as  to  be  truly  one,  properly 
identical,  with  it.  This  is  resurrection.  We  are  to 
come  up  out  of  our  graves  in  the  last  day.  But  it  is 
also  to  be  infinitely  superior  to  it  in  its  capacities  and 
endowments.  It  is  to  be  spiritual,  glorious,  like  the 
body  of  Christ.  "Flesh  and  blood  shall  not  inherit 
the  kingdom  of  God.  Sown  in  corruption,  it  shall  be 
raised  in  incorruption ;  sown  in  dishonour,  it  shall  be 
raised  in  glory ;  sown  in  weakness,  it  shall  be  raised  in 
power."  "It  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be;"  but 
we  shall  enjoy  a  state  in  which  the  advantages  of  spi- 
rituality and  materiality  shall  be  combined  without 
contradiction  or  interference.  Then  shall  humanity 
attain  perfection,  and  "  mortality  be  swallowed  up  of 
life." 

We  see  here  much  to  dissuade  us  from  a  supreme 
devotion  to  the  sensual  and  earthly.  We  have  seen 
that  the  flesh  is  not  ourselves,  but  a  mere  accident  and 
accompaniment  of  ourselves.  To  lavish  all  or  the  chief 
part  of  our  care  upon  it  is  to  neglect  ourselves  for  the 
sake  of  our  raiment.  And  this  is  but  a  sort  of  foppery ; 
and  assimilates  us  to  the  case  of  that  proverbially 
silly  class  of  persons  whose  personality  seems  to  be 


212  ^  SERMON  XVIII. 

transfused  into  their  clothes,  and  who  esteem  them- 
selves chiefly  according  to  the  cut  and  texture  of  their 
garments.  When  we  lavish  our  thoughts  and  labours 
on  earthly  things,  we  aim  at  a  good  which  has  no  per- 
manent connexion  with  us,  but  which  we  must  soon 
lay  aside  with  that  body  which  alone  gives  us  access 
to  it  and  enjoyment  of  it.  "  The  world  passeth  away 
and  the  lust  thereof."  The  minding  of  the  flesh  is 
folly  and  madness  to  such  beings  as  we  are,  and  can 
end  only  in  disappointment,  wretchedness  and  eternal 
destitution. 

We  see  here  much  to  abate  our  apprehension  of 
death.  What  is  death?  An  unclothing,  the  text  tells 
us,  the  mere  parting  with  something  which  never  did 
more  than  array  us  and  give  us  a  certain  visibility,  ap- 
pearance, and  relation  to  external  things.  We  do  not 
die.  A  certain  raiment,  which  for  our  temporary  ac- 
commodation is  made  alive  by  contact  with  us,  dies; 
and  we,  in  all  that  constitutes  ourselves  properly  and 
permanently,  remain  alive  as  before,  unimpaired,  un- 
harmed, unaltered.  Now  this,  I  say,  may  serve  to 
greatly  mitigate  our  dread  of  death ;  as  it  displays  it 
as  an  event  which  spends  all  the  power  of  destruction 
that  it  has  on  that  which  is  purely  adventitious  to  our 
proper  being,  and  has  no  power  to  harm  or  to  touch 
anything  that  really  enters  into  the  constitution  of  hu- 
manity. Qualities  of  the  mind  and  heart,  thought, 
sentiment,  feeling,  affections,  principles,  all  remain  un- 
injured. Surely  the  harm  that  death  does  us,  if  it  be 
harm  at  all,  is  not  very  material.  We  may  feel  sad 
at  the  thought  of  laying  aside  a  garment  which  we 
have  found  becoming,  convenient  and  serviceable ;  but 
our  grief  rises  beyond  due  proportion  when  we  mourn 


UNCLOTHED  AND  RECLOTHED.  213 

as  though  we  were  about  to  be  destroyed.  We  expe- 
rience no  deep  distress  in  view  of  undressing  for  our 
beds.  We  have  done  it  often  unhurt.  The  garment 
of  the  flesh  is  only  a  little  older  and  nearer.  That 
last  undressing  will  be  just  as  harmless. 

Finally,  we  see  the  wisdom  of  caring  for  the  soul. 
There  is  that  to  us  which  is  permanent  as  well  as  that 
which  is  transitory.  Whatever  we  lay  out  on  the 
last  will  soon  be  lost  labour.  What  we  lay  out  on 
the  former  will  never  be  lost.  It  enters  into  the  tex- 
ture of  a  thing  which  is  incorruptible  and  eternal.  Or- 
nament the  soul,  the  embellishment  will  shine  forever. 
Improve  the  soul,  the  gain  will  be  everlasting.  Every 
advance  in  wisdom  or  goodness  is  a  profit  to  go  with 
us  into  eternity  and  minister  to  our  enjoyment  through 
its  unending  ages.  These  are  gains  of  which  no  ene- 
my can  despoil  us ;  they  are  gains  in  the  enduring, 
imperishable  substance  of  our  own  being. 

The  gospel  of  Christ  commends  itself  to  us  for  its 
design  and  capacity  to  benefit  the  immortal  soul,  to 
heal  all  its  moral  diseases,  to  purify  it  from  all  that 
is  base,  unworthy  and  disgraceful,  to  bring  it  into  the 
favour  of  God  and  enstamp  it  with  the  image  of  his 
moral  perfection.  Get  the  good  it  offers,  and  you  get 
a  good  as  lasting  as  yourselves,  as  that  God  into  whose 
presence  you  are  shortly  to  go,  as  that  eternity  where 
you  are  shortly  to  make  your  changeless  habitation. 
"Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ."  Go  to  his  cross 
for  pardon,  to  his  grace  for  purity  and  strength. 
"  God  forbid  that  I  should  glory  save  in  the  cross  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  by  whom  the  world  is  crucified 
unto  me,  and  I  unto  the  world." 
19 


214  SERMON  XIX. 


SERMON    XIX. 

RIGHTEOUSNESS   ALONE    PROPERLY 
I  :\I  M  0  R  T  A  L . 

And  the  world  passeth  away,  and  the  lust  thereof:  but  he   that 
doeth  the  will  of  God  abideth  for  ever. — 1  John  ii.  17. 

The  obedient  man,  then,  is  immortal.  Yet  the  wicked, 
too,  shall  continue  to  exist  forever ;  for  there  are  those 
that  shall  "  awake  to  shame  and  everlasting  contempt." 
But  there  is  an  endless  existence  that  is  no  immortality ; 
for,  being,  divested  of  all  that  gives  it  value,  is  not  life. 
By  a  very  natural  and  proper  figure  is  such  being  there- 
fore called  death,  and  its  perpetuity,  "eternal  death," 
"everlasting  destruction,"  a  ruin  all  the  more  complete 
because  it  does  not  involve  the  loss  of  consciousness 
and  activity.  To  exist  with  attributes  that  render 
existence  pleasurable  and  advantageous  is  life ;  to  exist 
thus  eternally  is  eternal  life.  This  is  the  exclusive 
privilege  and  possession  of  goodness  ;  and  goodness  is 
conformity  to  the  divine  will,  which  is  the  standard  of 
good  to  creatures.  Obedience,  then,  is  the  true  principle 
of  immortality  in  men,  its  pledge  and  proof;  and  who- 
soever has  in  him  the  witness  of  a  sincere  desire  to  do 
the  will  of  God,  has  the  implanted  seed  of  a  blissful 
immortality  in  his  soul,  which  will  spring  up  and  bear 
fruit  w^hen  the  glory  of  the  world  shall  be  forgotten, 
and  the  world  itself  has  been  dissolved  and  passed 


RIGHTEOUSNESS  ALONE  PROPERLY  IMMORTAL.  215 

awaj.  But  this  obedience  is  not  merely  an  outward 
compliance;  it  is  an  inward  acquiescence  and  compla- 
cency. The  sense  of  this  in  the  heart  is  "a  well  of 
water  that  springeth  up  unto  everlasting  life,"  and 
testifies  to  it  that  it  is  quite  out  of  the  reach  of  all 
causes  of  decay,  and  shall  defy  and  triumph  over  the 
utmost  might  of  all  instrumentalities  of  destruction. — 
"The  world  passeth  away,  and  the  lust  thereof." — 
Neither  itself,  nor  any  thing  that  is  in  it  save  man, 
enjoys  the  boon  of  permanent  existence.  The  pro- 
ductions of  nature  and  the  creations  of  art  are  all  pe- 
rishable. The  hfe  of  the  things  that  live  is  very  brief. 
"Fearfully  and  wonderfully  made,"  full  of  testimonies 
to  the  divine  skill,  power  and  goodness,  they  turn  to 
dust  and  disappear.  Men  themselves  are  mortal  in  all 
that  pertains  to  the  world,  and  quickly  perish.  The 
lust  of  the  world,  its  craving  appetite  of  good,  well  or 
ill  directed,  has  but  limited  scope  and  stay.  Its  co- 
vetousness,  its  sensuality,  its  ambition,  all  end  in  the 
poverty,  insensibility  and  meanness  of  the  grave.  The 
avaricious,  whose  lust  is  for  gold,  heaps  up  and  guards 
his  riches  till  God  comes  to  take  him  from  it,  that  he 
may  give  his  hoards  to  those  who  will  squander  it  or 
put  it  to  better  use;  then,  naked,  returns  to  go  as  he 
came,  and  of  all  that  he  has  takes  nothino:  with  him 
that  he  may  carry  away  in  his  hand.  The  voluptuary, 
whose  lust  is  for  pleasure,  fares  sumptuously  every  day, 
and  dies  and  is  buried,  and  lifts  up  his  eyes  where  there 
is  not  a  drop  of  water  to  cool  his  tongue.  And  the 
votary  of  greatness,  whose  lust  is  for  distinction  and 
power,  soon  sinks  beneath  the  level  of  the  vilest  of 


216  SERMON  XIX. 

living  things,  to  make  his  bed  in  the  obscurity  and  dis- 
honour of  the  tomb.  The  scheming  politician,  the 
dreamy  enthusiast,  the  fervent  fanatic,  the  devotee  of 
any  lust,  the  lust  itself,  wise  or  silly,  brief  or  enduring, 
vain  or  successful,  is  soon  quenched  forever.  Its  sub- 
ject and  its  object  are  alike  evanescent, — each  "a 
vapour  that  appeareth  for  a  little  time  and  then  va- 
nisheth  away."  "The  dead  know  not  any  thing." 
"Also  their  love,  and  their  hatred  and  their  envy  is 
now  perished;  neither  have  they  any  more  a  portion 
in  any  thing  that  is  done  under  the  sun."  Wicked 
men  retain  their  being  indeed,  but  it  is  only  to  feel  it 
a  burden  and  a  curse,  far  worse  than  nothingness. 
"  He  that  doeth  the  will  of  God  abideth  forever,"  he 
alone,  sole  remnant  and  survivor  of  this  fair  and  stately 
world,  destined  alone  of  all  that  is  in  it  to  outlive  its 
transitory  pageantry  and  unsubstantial  greatness,  its 
long-drawn  drama  of  illustrious  men  and  mighty  deeds, 
and  attains  in  the  end  a  life  of  endless  satisfaction 
and  utility. 

"  It  is  plain,"  says  Archdeacon  Manning  in  a  sermon 
on  our  text,  "  that  nothing  is  truly  real,  which  is  not 
eternal.  In  a  certain  sense,  all  things,  the  most 
shadowy  and  fleeting, — the  frosts,  and  dews,  and  mists 
of  heaven, — are  real,  every  light  which  falls  from  the 
upper  air,  every  reflection  of  its  brightness  towards 
heaven  again,  is  a  reality.  It  is  a  creature  of  God ;  and 
is  here,  in  His  world,  fulfilling  His  will.  But  these 
things  we  are  wont  to  take  as  the  very  symbols  and 
parables  of  unreality,  and  that  because  they  are 
changeful  and  transitory.     It  is  clear  then,  that  when 


RIGHTEOUSNESS  ALONE  PROPERLY  IMMORTAL.   217 

we  speak  of  realities,  we  mean  things  that  have  in 
them  the  germ  of  an  abiding  life.  Things  which  pass 
away  at  last,  how  long  soever  they  may  seem  to  tarry 
with  us,  we  call  forms  and  appearances.  They  have  no 
intrinsic  being ;  for  a  time  they  are,  and  then  they  are 
not.  Their  very  being  was  an  accident;  they  were 
shadows  of  a  reality,  cast  for  a  time  into  the  world,  and 
then  withdrawn.  In  strictness  of  speech,  we  can  call 
nothing  real  which  is  not  eternal.  Now  it  is  in  this 
sense  that  I  have  said,  the  only  reality  in  the  world 
is  a  will  obedient  to  the  will  of  God." 

How  this  obedience  constitutes  the  only  immortality 
the  world  can  boast,  will  appear  more  clearly  from  a 
consideration,  first  of  its  subject,  and  then  of  its  object. 
Its  subject  is  the  soul  of  man ;  its  object  the  will  of  God. 

Look  then,  first,  at  its  subject.  Here  you  have  a  thing 
intrinsically  everlasting ;  and  it  is  the  only  thing  of  that 
nature  in  the  world.  The  Creator  impressed  that 
property  upon  it  when  he  made  it;  and  he  will  never 
take  it  away.  It  can  never  die  in  itself,  for  it  is  unde- 
caying ;  and  it  can  never  be  extinguished  by  the  action 
of  any  thing  extraneous  to  itself,  for  it  is  indestructible. 
Of  nothing  else  on  earth  can  this  be  said ;  of  nothing 
else  is  it  true.  The  works  of  man  are  strong,  solid, 
durable ;  the  works  of  God  are  more  so.  The  first 
resist  the  tendencies  to  dissolution  in  themselves  and 
the  action  of  destroying  causes  very  long,  it  may  be  to 
the  end  of  the  world.  But  that  phrase  seals  their 
doom.  The  works  of  God  out  of  which  they  are 
framed, — for  man  properly  creates  nothing, — and  on 
which  they  rest,  shall  themselves  pass  away.     Soon, 

19* 


218  SERMON  XIX. 

the  substance  out  of  which  they  are  fashioned  and  the 
substratum  on  which  they  rest,  shall  disappear,  and 
carry  them  with  it  into  annihilation.  There  shall  be 
no  survivor  but  the  soul.  That  shall  outlast  the 
wreck,  because  God  wills  that  it  shall,  and  it  is  there- 
fore independent  of  all  changes  and  chances  of  the 
world.  Its  passions  and  desires  may  cease;  because, 
the  objects  to  which  they  are  directed  being  no  more, 
to  cherish  them  were  futile  and  foolish.  Yet  the 
aching  sense  that  once  they  were,  and  the  distressing 
feeling  of  the  vacancy  which  they  have  left,  may 
remain,  and  be  an  exquisite  wretchedness.  But  de- 
prived of  its  idols,  and  supplied  with  no  substitutes  to 
make  up  its  loss,  it  may  live  only  to  experience  the 
torment  of  an  insatiable  and  hopeless  hunger.  But 
live  it  must.  It  has  no  capacity  to  die.  It  can  get 
no  leave  to  die.  It  can  do  no  suicidal  act.  It  can 
bribe  no  executioner  to  slay  it.  It  may  utter  poor 
frantic  Saul's  appeal, — "Stand,  I  pray  thee,  upon  me 
and  slay  me,  for  anguish  is  come  upon  me,  because  my 
life  is  yet  whole  in  me," — there  shall  be  none  to 
answer  it.  The  soul  is  an  imperishable  substance,  im- 
perishable both  as  to  its  being  and  as  to  the  conscious 
and  active  exercise  of  its  powers.  Of  this  only  can 
perpetuity  be  affirmed  of  all  things  below  the  sun. 

But  it  is  time  that  we  passed  on  to  the  consideration 
of  the  object  of  human  obedience, — the  will  of  God. — 
In  order  that  the  soul,  thus  everlasting  in  itself,  may 
attain  to  a  true  immortality,  it  is  needful  that  it  should 
direct  itself  to  some  permanent  object  from  which  it 
may  derive  employment  and  satisfaction  as  enduring 


RIGHTEOUSNESS  ALONE  PROPERLY  IMMORTAL.   219 

as  itself.  Put  it  to  any  transient  work,  and  on  the 
cessation  of  the  work  it  dies,  not  by  the  extinction  of 
its  being,  but  bj  the  loss  of  all  that  renders  being 
valuable  and  desirable.  How  constantly  is  the  future 
state  of  the  wicked  denominated  death  in  the  Scrip- 
tures, not  as  indicating  the  annihilation  of  the  soul,  or 
its  deprivation  of  activity  and  sensibility,  but  its  loss 
of  all  that  makes  existence  worth  having,  its  reduction 
to  a  state  of  wretchedness  which  is  below  annihilation; 
bare  being  without  any  of  its  uses  or  blessings.  The 
doing  of  the  will  of  God  is  the  only  business  to  which 
the  soul  can  apply  itself  here,  which  it  can  continue  to 
pursue  with  benefit  eternally.  Other  objects  with 
which  it  may  form  a  connexion  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
riving good,  perish  from  beneath  it  and  leave  it  desti- 
tute. They  are  ''of  the  earth,  earthy."  They  are 
precarious  even  as  to  their  temporal  duration.  Not  one 
of  them  can  go  with  the  soul  in  its  fearful  passage  into 
the  unseen  state.  They  have  no  place  in  the  arrange- 
ments of  eternity. 

Let  a  man  devote  himself  to  riches,  and  no  mortal  fore- 
cast and  sagacity  can  assure  him  that  the  process  of 
accumulation  shall  go  on  without  interruption  or  defeat 
till  the  end ;  and  though  it  should,  there  is  fatal  cer- 
tainty that  the  pursuit  of  wealth  is  not  among  the  pos- 
sible occupations  of  the  world  to  come.  There  is  no- 
thing there  for  a  covetous  man  to  do  or  to  enjoy.  If 
one  give  himself  up  to  some  form  of  sensuality,  grosser 
or  more  refined  it  is  all  one.  An  hour's  sickness  can 
stop  his  employment  and  pleasure  at  any  time,  and,  it 
may  be,  reduce  the  rest  of  his  life  to  a  dreary  blank. 


220  SERMON  XIX. 

But  howsoever  that  may  be,  it  is  evident  that  flesh 
and  blood  are  the  peculiar  booty  and  possession  of 
the  grave,  and  the  spirit  sensualized  by  devotion  to 
them  is  shortly  going  to  a  world  where  it  shall  miss 
alike  the  instruments  and  objects  of  its  sensuality  for- 
ever. What  a  horrible  destitution  is  before  all  the 
sensual!  Surely,  "to  be  carnally  minded  is  death." 
The  will  of  God  passes  with  a  man  unchanged  from  this 
world  to  another:  that  alone.  The  work  and  pleasure 
it  affords  him  is  an  eternal  portion.  "Forever,  0 
Lord!  thy  word  endureth  in  heaven."  "Concerning 
thy  statutes,  I  have  known  long  since  that  thou  hast 
founded  them  forever."  The  government  of  God  is  un- 
changing. The  years  of  time  and  the  cycles  of  eternity 
work  no  variation  of  its  principles  or  prescriptions.  If 
there  is  that  in  it  from  which  by  co-operation  and  con- 
formity a  moral  being  can  derive  delight,  then,  there 
is  opened  to  him  a  perennial  and  exhaustless  source  of 
delight,  and  he  is  perfectly  sure  that  he  can  never  be 
deprived  of  that  which  will  make  eternal  existence  to 
him  a  true  deathlessness,  an  immortality.  That  there 
is,  a  little  reflection  may  sufiice  to  show.  We  say  not 
how  much  pleasure  there  might  be  in  watching  with 
a  thorough  sympathy  the  majestic  movements  and 
magnificent  results  of  almighty  Power  on  through  ever- 
lasting ages,  though  it  moved  upon  some  principle  of 
unknown  and  inscrutable  wisdom.  But  the  will  of 
God  is  neither  dark  nor  arbitrary.  For  the  good  of 
the  creature  it  subsists  and  operates.  It  prescribes  to 
man  what  is  naturally  beneficial ;  it  prohibits  to  him 
what  is  naturally  injurious.     Obedience  to  it  is  avoid- 


RIGHTEOUSNESS  ALONE  PROPERLY  IMMORTAL.  221 

ance  of  causes  of  pain  and  pursuit  of  causes  of  plea- 
sure. There  is  no  man  that  obeys  it  in  this  life,  -who 
does  not  feel  himself  thereby  dignified  and  improved, 
a  better  thing  in  his  own  appreciation,  a  richer  source 
of  satisfaction  to  himself.  So  it  shall  be  to  a  much 
higher  degree  in  eternity ;  for  there  the  good  man  shall 
enjoy  a  much  clearer  insight  into  that  will,  and  a  more 
perfect  conformity  to  its  behests.  Conscience,  a  sense 
of  obligation,  a  sense  also  of  what  is  fit,  not  as  the 
ground  of  obligation  but  its  concomitant  and  ally,  is  the 
tormentor  of  the  disobedient,  the  comforter  of  the  obe- 
dient, powerful  in  this  world,  more  powerful  under  the 
stronger  lights  of  the  world  to  come.  Conformity  to 
the  will  of  God  makes  the  soul  happy,  and  as  that  will 
is  eternal,  it  can  make  the  soul  eternally  happy.  Here 
then  is  provision  for  immortal  felicity.  "  He  that  doeth 
the  will  of  God  abideth  forever,"  not  merely  in  the 
preservation  of  his  being,  for  that  rests  not  upon  cha- 
racter, but  in  the  preservation  of  it  from  becoming  a 
curse,  and  a  burden,  and  a  torture  to  him,  such  as 
might  make  it  his  occupation  forever  to  wish  and 
vainly  wish  its  termination.  All  else  passes  away,  sinks 
into  nihility,  or  remains  a  miserable  wreck,  stripped  of 
all  but  the  horrible  consciousness  of  want.  Obedience 
alone  gives  life  substance  and  reality,  permanent  value 
and  permanent  delight.  "The  world  passeth  away 
and  the  lust  thereof;  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  God 
abideth  forever." 

We  see  then,  my  brethren,  the  purpose  of  our  crea- 
tion, that  purpose  in  the  fulfilment  of  which  alone  it 
can  yield  to  us  the  benefits  which  the  Creator  designed 


222  SERMON  XIX. 

to  bestow, — the  keeping  of  the  commandments  of  God. 
In  them  the  will  of  God  concerning  us  is  embodied. 
They  are  to  us  its  exponent  and  equivalent.  This 
rescues  religion  from  that  vagueness  and  unreality 
which  to  many  minds  it  wears,  as  though  it  were  a 
thing  of  notions  and  emotions,  made  up  altogether  of 
certain  inward  movements  of  the  mind  and  heart.  Oh 
no,  nothing  can  be  more  practical,  nothing  can  take 
more  immediate  and  palpable  hold  of  the  common  busi- 
ness of  common  life.  How  evident  it  is,  that  it  is  not 
confined  to  a  few  periods  of  peculiar  reflection  and  sen- 
sibility, to  our  closets  and  our  churches;  for  life's  busi- 
ness, life's  substance,  life's  value  is  to  do  the  will  of 
God,  and  this  is  a  work  applicable  to  all  times  and  all 
places,  to  our  parlours  and  our  work-shops,  our  scenes 
of  labour  and  of  pleasure,  a  work  that  never  need  to 
cease  for  any  want  of  occasion  or  opportunity.  We 
have  only  to  mix  up  the  thought  of  God's  will  with  our 
engagements,  whatsoever  they  be  if  they  are  not  in- 
trinsically sinful,  and  join  to  them  an  intention  to  do 
it,  to  give  a  religious  value  to  any  act,  and  render  it  a 
contribution  to  our  eternal  welfare. 

There  are  many  things  that  we  cannot  always  be 
doing.  We  cannot  always  be  praying,  or  reading  the 
Scriptures,  or  occupying  ourselves  in  acts  specifically 
pious.  But  we  can  always  be  doing  the  will  of  God, 
by  exercising  a  right  temper  of  mind  in  reference  to 
his  government,  and  aiming  in  all  things  to  subserve 
its  ends.  Life  thus  spent  will  never  be  barren  of  good 
to  us.  We  shall  be  elaborating  underneath  its  secular 
exterior  a  precious  substance,  which,  when  its  perisha- 


KIGHTEOUSNESS  ALONE  PROPERLY  IMMORTAL.  223 

ble  shell  pertaining  to  this  transient  world  shall  crum- 
ble off,  will  remain  an  indestructible  and  abiding  por- 
tion in  eternity.  It  consecrates  life;  it  gives  it  sub- 
stance and  reality ;  it  rescues  it  from  waste  and  perver- 
sion ;  it  works  out  within  its  narrow  precincts  and  mean 
labours,  a  portion  of  the  soul,  "incorruptible  and  un- 
defiled,  and  that  fadeth  not  away." 

But  let  me  not  be  supposed  in  saying  so  much  in 
praise  of  obedience,  of  virtuous  and  dutiful  works,  to 
inculcate  a  legal  religion,  to  represent  heaven  as  the 
purchase  of  meritorious  service,  to  countenance  spiri- 
tual pride  and  self-righteousness,  to  underrate  doctrine, 
to  overlook  repentance  and  faith,  or  found  our  accept- 
ance with  God  on  any  other  ground  than  that  of  a  free 
pardon  of  our  sins  through  the  merits  of  the  Redeemer 
appropriated  by  faith,  accorded  to  us  by  the  free  mercy 
of  Heaven.  Nay,  all  these  things  are  part  of  the  will 
of  God  concerning  us,  and  there  can  be  no  true  and 
proper  doing  of  that  will  that  excludes  them.  "  This 
is  the  work  of  God," — the  work  his  will  enjoins, — 
*'  that  ye  believe  on  him  whom  he  hath  sent." — "  What 
shall  I  do  to  be  saved?  Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ."  "Men  and  brethren,  what  shall  we  do? — 
Repent  and  be  baptized,  every  one  of  you."  The  in- 
ward exercises  of  evangelical  religion  then,  the  con- 
formity of  the  mind  to  Gospel  truth,  enters  essentially 
into  the  keeping  of  God's  commandments ;  and  upon  it 
as  a  basis  rests  the  acceptable  performance  of  all  prac- 
tical duties,  which  are  indeed  no  more  than  its  mani- 
festation and  fruit.  Would  you  then  give  your  exist- 
ence permanent  value,  bestow  upon  it  a  substance, 


224  SERMON  XIX. 

which  shall  make  it  a  source  of  everlasting  satisfaction 
and  blessedness? 

Study  the  will  of  God.  "Be  ye  not  unwise,  but  un- 
derstanding what  the  will  of  the  Lord  is."  Seek  to 
have  an  intelligent  and  complete  acquaintance  with  the 
will  of  God  concerning  you,  with  all  that  he  prescribes 
and  enjoins  as  the  condition  of  his  favour  according  to 
the  terms  of  the  Gospel.  Go  to  the  pure  fountains  of 
divine  knowledge,  and  study  their  revelations  with  at- 
tention, with  docility,  with  perseverance.  Consult  them 
continually.  Pray  for  light  that  you  may  know  their 
meaning,  and  submit  your  understanding  with  childlike 
simplicity  to  their  teaching  and  guidance. 

Embrace  the  will  of  God.  Let  it  not  lie  a  dead 
and  cold  mass  of  dogmas  and  precepts  in  the  mind. 
Be  not  content  to  know  what  the  provisions  of  salva- 
tion and  the  principles  of  duty  are.  The  science  of 
religion  or  of  ethics  may  stand  as  far  away  from  a 
religious  life,  as  the  science  of  astronomy  from  its  uses. 
It  is  not  the  will  of  God  that  we  should  merely  know 
his  will,  but  that  we  should  fashion  our  inner  life  into 
a  conformity  with  its  dictates,  that  we  should  be  peni- 
tent, believing,  humble,  devout  men,  men  whose  spirit 
is  controlled  and  regulated  by  the  requisitions  of  the 
Gospel. 

Practise  the  will  of  God.  Knowing  what  the  will 
of  God  is,  and  laying  hold  of  it  with  a  sincere  consent 
and  conformity  of  the  heart,  submit  your  conduct  to 
its  governance  and  direction.  Keep  the  command- 
ments.    Let  your  every  action  be  an  act  of  obedience. 


RIGHTEOUSNESS  ALONE  PROPERLY  IMMORTAL.  225 

Make  no  exception  in  duty.  Take  it  all  into  your 
scheme  of  life.  Carry  it  all  out  resolutely  and  perseve- 
ringly  in  its  practical  business.  This,  this  alone,  will 
give  existence  substance,  reality,  dignity,  permanent 
and  everlasting  blessedness.  For  he  that  doeth  the 
will  of  God  abideth  forever. 


20 


226  SERMON  XX. 

SEEM  ON   XX. 

THE  ANSWER   TO  PRAYER  RECEIVED  BY  FAITH. 

And  this  is  the  confidence  that  we  have  in  him,  that,  if  we  ask  any- 
thing according  to  his  will,  he  heareth  us :  and  if  we  know  that 
he  hear  us,  whatsoever  we  ask,  we  know  that  we  have  the  peti- 
tions that  we  desired  of  him. — 1  John  v.  14,  15. 

I  SUPPOSE,  that  a  very  considerable  amount  of  error 
prevails  in  regard  to  the  answer  of  prayer.  That  an- 
swer is  by  many  supposed  to  be  a  more  tangible  and 
ascertainable  result  than  it  really  is.  Now,  in  saying 
this,  I  do  not  mean  to  intimate  that  the  answer  of 
prayer  is  not  real,  for  that  were  to  controvert  one  of 
the  plainest  and  most  comfortable  truths  of  Scripture; 
but  simply  to  suggest  that  its  nature  and  indications 
may  be  somewhat  different  from  popular  and  preva- 
lent impressions,  that  the  answer  of  prayer,  actual, 
precious,  certain,  is  nevertheless  addressed  rather  to 
faith  than  to  sight,  and  is  to  be  apprehended  chiefly 
by  the  same  confidence  in  God,  which  prompts  prayer 
itself.  Now,  I  am  well  aware  that  this  may  be  a  less 
agreeable  and  satisfactory  view  of  the  subject,  than 
that  which  is  commonly  entertained ;  for  men  are  ex- 
ceedingly eager  for  palpable  effects,  and  are  indisposed 
to  credit  the  reality  of  that  which  is  not  indicated  to 
them  by  manifest  and  unequivocal  proofs.  But  we  are 
really  more  concerned  to  obtain  truth  than  gra- 
tification, and  should  always  be  more  anxious  to  as- 
certain what  the  mind  of  the  Lord  is,  and  ready  to  ac- 


THE  ANSWER  TO  PRATER  RECEIVED  BY  FAITH.    227 

count  it,  whatever  it  may  be,  "good,  acceptable  and 
perfect,"  than  to  find  it  in  accordance  with  our  wishes, 
previous  expectations  and  conclusions. 

And,  moreover,  this  view,  if  it  be  calmly  and  firmly 
maintained,  will,  in  the  end,  afford  the  soul  more  com- 
fort and  tranquillity,  than  one  which  keeps  it  ever  in 
a  state  of  feverish  expectancy,  on  a  perpetual  look-out 
for  visible  signs  and  tokens.  And  surely,  he  will  che- 
rish a  much  higher  sense  of  the  value  and  efficacy  of 
prayer,  and  feel  more  deeply  the  extent  of  his  obliga- 
tions to  divine  goodness,  who,  in  the  spirit  of  simple 
faith,  believes  that  he  has  the  petitions  that  he  has 
asked  of  him,  just  because  God  has  promised  to  hear 
and  answer  them,  than  he  who  measures  its  success  by 
visible  signs  and  instances.  To  answer  prayer  God 
has  promised :  to  make  the  answer  of  prayer  evident 
he  has  not  promised.  If  we  believe  his  promise,  we 
may  know  that  our  prayer  is  answered  as  certainly, 
in  cases  where  the  answer  is  obscure  or  utterly  indis- 
coverable,  as  in  those  where  it  is  clearly  and  unequi- 
vocally perceptible.  And  in  this  conviction  an  immense 
amount  of  satisfaction  is  secured  to  the  Christian 
mind,  which  is  otherwise  lost.  It  enjoys  a  delightful 
consciousness  of  success  in  the  very  act  of  asking ;  it 
outruns  the  slow  wheels  of  providence,  and  reaches  the 
goal,  to  which  they  are  leisurely  rolling  on,  at  once ;  it 
gets  the  benefit  of  dissembled,  disguised,  procrastinated 
answers,  which  otherwise  it  might  not  last  long  enough 
to  welcome,  or  which  might  not  be  recognised  when 
they  came.  The  faith  in  prayer  that  rests  on  tangi- 
ble consequences  and  literal  fulfilments,  must  be  sadly 


228  SERMON  XX. 

harassed  and  tempted.  How  small  an  amount  of  its 
fruits  can  in  this  way  be  identified  and  appropriated. 
How  much  prayer,  on  this  hypothesis,  must  either  be 
wholly  unprofitable,  or  confine  its  benefits  to  the 
moral  influence  it  exerts  on  the  petitioner.  I  con- 
fess, if  I  were  to  adopt  this  theory,  I  should  be  com- 
pelled to  regard  this  moral  influence  as  the  princi- 
pal and  primary,  almost  the  exclusive,  use  of  prayer, 
and  to  attribute  to  it  very  little  efiicacy,  as  a  means 
of  procuring  specified  blessings,  influential  on  the  di- 
vine mind,  and  drawing  down  the  mercies  for  which  it 
supplicates  from  the  hand  of  God. 

Yet  such  proper,  literal  prevalency  the  Scriptures 
plainly  ascribe  to  prayer;  and  any  other  view  of  it 
must  rob  it  of  animation,  energy  and  comfort.  Reli- 
gion is  in  all  its  departments  a  business  of  faith.  In 
all  that  it  calls  us  to  do,  we  "walk  by  faith  and  not  by 
sight."  Prayer  is  no  exception.  "He  that  cometh 
to  God  must  believe  that  he  is,  and  that  he  is  a  re- 
warder  of  them  that  diligently  seek  him."  We  ap- 
proach "the  throne  of  grace"  as  to  the  presence  of  a 
father;  and  a  father's  promise  is  enough:  we  need  not 
present  possession  or  ocular  attainment.  AVe  repose 
on  the  Father's  love  and  faithfulness  as  sweetly  as  we 
could  on  any  immediate  and  sensible  communication 
of  benefits.  We  know  that  we  have  the  petitions  that 
we  have  asked  as  certeainly,  as  though  their  realization 
were  matter  of  instant  and  sensible  discovery.  This 
then  is  the  answer  of  prayer, — the  deep  conviction 
that  the  Being  to  whom  it  is  addressed  is  able,  willing, 
faithful.     It  is  apprehended  by  faith,  not  by  sight. 


THE  ANSWER  TO  PRATER  RECEIVED  BY  FAITH.   229 

It  is  certain,  cheering,  not  because  we  perceive  it  by 
our  senses,  but  because  it  rests  upon  the  word  of  One, 
who  is  ^'  more  ready  to  hear  than  we  to  pray,  and  wont 
to  give  more  than  either  we  desire  or  deserve." 

In  pursuing  our  subject  further,  then,  let  us  consi- 
der, that  when  God  promises  to  answer  prayer,  he  does 
not  limit  himself  as  to  the  time,  the  mode  or  the  form 
of  the  answer,  but  leaves  himself  the  largest  liberty 
and  discretion  in  all  these  respects.  Hence,  the  an- 
swer of  prayer,  though  always  certain  and  real,  is 
not  always  immediately  or  unequivocally  distinguish- 
able; and  we  may  hastily  pronounce  that  prayer  un- 
successful, whose  answer  is  only  yet  future,  or  hidden 
under  a  disguise. 

Consider,  first,  then,  that  God  in  answering  our 
prayers  allows  himself  great  latitude  of  time.  We  are 
impatient  creatures,  eager  for  speedy  and  immediate 
results.  But  God  is  always  calm,  deliberate,  judi- 
cious. He  waiteth  to  be  gracious,  not  capriciously  but 
discreetly.  A  benefit  often  owes  its  chief  value  to  its 
being  seasonable,  opportune.  And  the  discipline  of 
delay  is  frequently  even  a  greater  profit  than  the  bliss 
of  fruition.  ^'It  is  good  for  a  man  that  he  should 
both  hope  and  quietly  wait  for  the  salvation  of  God." 
Hence,  "he  that  believeth  will  not  make  haste,"  but 
will  by  faith  borrow  the  deliberation  of  God,  and  trans- 
fuse it  into  his  own  bosom.  He  will  avoid  hasty 
hopes,  impatient  expectations  and  precipitate  conclu- 
sions. He  will  put  confidence  in  God,  in  his  pater- 
nal wisdom,  as  well  as  his  paternal  love.  We  cannot 
be  too  sensible  of  the  puerility  of  our  judgments  and 

20* 


280  SERMON  XX. 

desires,  and  the  advantage  of  having  them  revised  and 
corrected  by  the  knowledge  of  One  whose  judgment  is 
unerring.  He  is  the  "only  wise."  And  as  he  is  our 
Father,  and  his  regard  and  treatment  of  us  altogether 
fatherly,  we  need  have  no  fear  that  our  interests  will 
not  be  properly  cared  for,  and  our  applications  duly 
registered  and  heeded. 

But  God's  procedure  is  quiet  and  leisurely,  while 
our  wishes  are  turbulent  and  headstrong.  He  sees  no 
occasion  for  haste.  There  is  time  enough  to  do  all 
that  his  wisdom  or  his  love  would  suggest  in  that  eter- 
nity which  he  inhabits.  His  measures  of  time  are  not 
ours.  There  is  room  enough,  even  in  that  brief  frag- 
ment of  eternity  which  he  appoints  to  us  here,  for  the 
ample  manifestation  and  enjoyment  of  every  blessing 
which  he  may  accord  to  our.  prayers.  Nay,  he  may 
oftentimes  foresee  great  advantages  of  delay.  The 
benefit  he  is  reserving  in  his  hand  is  ours  fully,  and 
kept  temporarily  out  of  our  possession,  only  because  it 
is  safer  and  more  profitable  to  us  thus,  than  it  would 
be  in  our  own  hands. 

Meanwhile,  under  God's  stewardship  it  is  ripening 
and  growing  into  a  richer  boon  than  it  would  have 
been,  if  it  had  been  bestowed  at  once  in  compliance 
"with  our  impatient  wishes, — crude,  immature,  compa- 
ratively unproductive,  as  it  must  have  been,  if  it  had 
been  given  sooner.  God  is  doubtless  exercising  some- 
thing of  the  same  sort  of  discretion  in  granting  our 
requests,  as  earthly  parents  use  in  the  treatment  of  the 
wishes  of  their  children,  and  with  the  same  affection- 
ate and  gracious  intent.  A  parent's  love  should  be 
a  wise  love,  a  love  that  aims  not  so  much  at  grati- 


THE  ANSWER  TO  PRAYER  RECEIVED  BY  FAITH.  231 

fication,  as  at  usefulness.  It  should  be  regulated  by 
the  law  of  discretion,  as  well  as  by  the  law  of  kind- 
ness. The  child  prefers  its  request,  and  is  kindly 
heard,  and  cheered  with  a  promise  that  its  request 
shall  be  performed.  But  time  passes  on,  and  brings 
no  performance.  The  parent  never  alludes  to  the  re- 
quest, and  seems  to  have  forgotten  it.  The  child  grows 
restless,  angry  and  unhappy.  By  and  by,  by  signifi- 
cant indications  he  reminds  the  parent  of  his  promise ; 
but  still  he  obtains  nothing  but  a  benignant  smile  or 
a  gentle  word.  He  waits,  perhaps,  till  hope  sinks 
into  despair  or  forgetfulness ;  and  then,  when  expecta- 
tion has  vanished,  the  benefit  comes,  and  brings  with 
it  such  clear  evidence  of  being  altogether  timely,  in 
its  peculiar  suitableness  to  the  circumstances,  as  con- 
vinces him  at  once,  that  it  is  a  much  greater  favour  to 
him,  than  it  would  have  been  if  it  had  been  bestowed 
earlier,  and  administers  a  fit  reproof  of  his  unbelief 
and  peevishness.  Meanwhile,  the  request  was  granted 
at  once,  but  the  actual  conveyance  was  withheld  till  a 
fitting  opportunity.  So  prayer  to  God  is  immediately 
successful;  for  the  promise  is,  "Before  they  call,  I 
will  answer  them,  and  whilst  they  are  yet  speaking  I 
will  hear."  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  success 
of  the  Syrophenician  woman's  request,  for  instance, 
was  as  complete,  in  the  mind  of  the  Saviour,  in  the  first 
moment  of  her  application  to  him,  as  it  was  in  the  se- 
quel. But  she  received  a  much  better  boon  in  the  end 
than  she  would  have  obtained  at  first;  for  she  had 
grown  better  in  seeking  it,  and  when  it  came,  was  far 
better  prepared  to  welcome  and  appreciate  it.* 
*  See,  also,  Daniel  x.  3,  12. 


232  SERMON  XX. 

We  are  hasty,  then,  in  pronouncing  a  request  unan- 
swered, the  answer  of  which  has  not  yet  attained  ma- 
nifestation.    This  is  taking  counsel  rather  of  our  own 
impatience,  than  of  God's  wisdom  and  fidelity.     For 
the   thing  wo  have  asked  may  have  been   instantly 
granted,  only  its  actual  communication  is  temporarily 
and  graciously  deferred.      If  so,  it  is  recorded  among 
those  gifts  of  God  which  are  without  repentance  or  re- 
call, is  as  sure  as  though  it  were  this  moment  in  our  pos- 
session, and  is  only  reserved  for  us,  till  that  juncture 
shall  arrive,  when  it  may  be  exhibited  and  conveyed 
to  us  to  our  greatest  advantage.     And  it  may  be,  that 
the  completion  of  that  effect  which  is  to  be  produced 
by  a  preparatory  discipline  of  previous  waiting  and 
trusting  and  praying,  is  the  very  result,  which,  when 
accomplished,  will  render  its  bestowment  safe  and  sa- 
lutary, and  exalt  the  value  and  sweetness  of  its  frui- 
tion a  thousand-fold. 

Consider,  secondly,  that  the  answer  of  prayer  is  with- 
out limitation  in  regard  to  the  mode.  God  binds  him- 
self to  grant  our  requests,  but  he  limits  himself  to  no 
particular  method  of  granting  them.  It  may  be  that 
in  our  anticipations  of  success  we  include  both  the  ob- 
ject and  the  manner;  but  the  promise  on  which  it  is 
grounded  includes  only  the  former.  Hence,  we  are 
liable  to  disappointment,  because  the  benefit  sought, 
conferred  in  a  way  so  foreign  to  our  expectations,  is 
disguised  from  our  knowledge,  and  fails  of  recognition 
as  an  answer  of  prayer.  God  is  not  wont  to  bestow  his 
favours,  especially  spiritual  favours,  on  men,  directly. 
He  far  more  commonly  employs  indirect  and  circuitous 


THE  ANSWER  TO  PRATER  RECEIVED  BY  FAITH.   233 

processes  for  their  conveyance.  When  he  is  about  to 
do  us  good,  he  sets  us  and  other  agents  at  work,  and 
oftenest,  upon  some  task  which  has  no  visible  connexion 
•with  the  designed  result;  and  he  induces  the  appropri- 
ate action  by  dispositions  of  his  providence,  the  bear- 
ing of  which  we  may  not  be  quick  to  recognise,  or  able 
to  conjecture.  We  are  fain  to  leap  to  our  result  at 
once;  but  he  chooses  to  interpose  an  intermediate 
chain  of  means  and  efforts,  the  fitness  and  efficacy  of 
which  are  not  apparent,  nor  always  even  discoverable. 
We  look  for  some  public  and  perceptible  interposition : 
he  chooses  a  stealthy  and  secret  agency.  ''What  I 
do,"  he  virtually  says  to  us,  "thou  knowest  not  now, 
but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter."  "His  ways  are  not 
our  ways,  neither  are  our  thoughts  his  thoughts :  for 
as  the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth,  so  are  his 
ways  higher  than  our  ways,  and  his  thoughts  than  our 
thoughts."  "He  bringeth  the  blind  by  a  way  that 
they  know  not,  and  leadeth  them  in  paths  that  they 
have  not  known."  These  unfamiliar,  unexpected,  ob- 
scure, indirect,  circuitous  methods  of  doing  us  good 
God  delights  in  employing.  Hence,  we  do  not  often 
perceive  the  success  of  our  petitions,  as  the  fruit  of 
God's  immediate  agency.  It  comes  as  the  effect  of 
second  causes,  and,  too  often,  is  overlooked  altogether 
as  it  respects  its  connexion  with  our  prayers,  and  re- 
garded only  as  some  incidental  and  secondary  conse- 
quence of  a  train  of  events  put  in  motion  for  some 
other  purpose.  We  lose  sight  of  its  connexion  with 
its  true  source,  in  the  multiplicity  of  intermediate  ob- 
jects and  events,  not  for  the  most  part  evidently  rele- 


234  SERMON  XX. 

vant  or  suitable  to  the  end.  We  pray  for  a  new  heart, 
and  we  expect  our  answer  m  the  upspringing  and  ope- 
ration within  us  of  new  desires,  new  aiFections,  new  prin- 
ciples and  new  purposes.  Or  we  ask  for  the  production 
or  increase  of  some  spiritual  grace,  and  the  signal  of  suc- 
cess is  to  be,  according  to  our  preconceived  judgment, 
in  our  consciousness  of  its  working  and  influence  in 
our  souls. 

But  the  real  answer  may  come  in  changes  of  our 
external  state  unlooked  for  and  unwelcome,  such  as 
will  call  us  to  toil  and  suffering,  under  the  operation 
of  which,  by  the  secret  influences  of  the  divine  Spirit, 
the  result  we  desire  may  be  slowly  and  painfully  de- 
veloped. We  looked  for  the  blessing  by  immediate 
and  easy  communications;  it  comes  under  a  course  of 
prolonged  and  afflictive  discipline.  And  it  is  during 
the  operation  of  some  such  course  of  external  training, 
the  propriety  of  which  we  do  not  discover,  the  design 
and  efiicacy  of  which  we  do  not  recognise,  that  the 
spiritual  result  is  actually  being  produced,  gradually 
and  indirectly,  which  we  are  looking  for,  as  the  fruit 
of  a  process  altogether  independent  of  it,  and  clearly 
distinguishable  from  it.  And  thus  the  blessing,  when 
it  comes,  coming  by  successive  small  instalments, 
brought  each  one  by  a  separate  outward  instrument 
employed  apparently  for  some  very  different  end,  is" 
not  recognised  as  the  answer  of  some  prayer,  from 
which  it  stands  so  widely  separated,  with  which  it  has 
so  little  manifest  or  traceable  connexion.  The  aff*airs 
of  the  world  are  guided  by  a  regard  to  many  concur- 
rent purposes,  which  are  wrought  out  by  the  simulta- 


THE  ANSWER  TO  PRAYER  RECEIVED  BY  FAITH.    235 

neous  and  co-operative  action  of  many  different  in- 
strumentalities. No  one  interest  is,  commonly,  in  the 
economy  of  the  divine  government  so  singled  out  and 
isolated,  that  its  history  can  be  separately  traced 
and  studied.  We  pour  our  prayers  out  before  the  throne 
of  grace,  and  not  one  of  them  is  forgotten  before  God. 
Every  one  of  them  has  its  power;  every  one  of  them 
yields  its  appropriate  fruit.  But  they  enter  that  vast 
ocean  of  activity  by  which  the  affairs  of  the  world  are  di- 
rected, and  are  seemingly  lost,  as  the  rain  drops  that 
sink  into  the  bosom  of  "  the  great  and  wide  sea."  But 
each  carries  its  contribution  to  the  power  by  which 
that  activity  is  sustained,  and  helps  to  quicken  springs 
and  wheels,  whose  motion,  under  the  guidance  of  di- 
vine wisdom,  spins  out  every  separate  thread,  through 
seemingly  inextricable  entanglement  and  confusion,  to 
its  own  appropriate  and  certain  consummation.  How 
unreasonable,  that  we  should  expect  a  distinct  economy, 
as  it  were,  to  be  maintained  for  the  satisfaction  of  every 
individual,  so  clear  and  definite  that  we  shall  be  able 
to  study  and  comprehend  it,  thoroughly  to  trace  the 
connexion  of  its  parts,  and  the  sequence  of  its  stages! 
Nay,  not  so ;  we  must  be  content  with  the  general  as- 
surance that  God  will  let  none  of  our  words  uttered 
in  faith  fall  to  the  ground,  receive  as  well  as  offer  our 
prayers  by  faith,  and  "  cast  our  bread  upon  the  waters," 
satisfied  to  know  that  we  have  not  lost  it,  but  '^  shall 
find  it  after  many  days." 

Consider,  thirdly,  that  God  in  answering  prayer 
holds  himself  at  perfect  liberty  in  regard  to  the  shape 
of  its  answer.  Whether  that  which  we  ask  for  be  really, 


236  SERMON  XX. 

or  only  apparently,  good  for  us,  or  whether  it  be  com- 
patible with  higher  interests  pertaining  to  ourselves  or 
others  must  be  left  to  his  decision.     "  Our  ignorance 
in  asking,"  and   especially  in  reference   to  temporal 
things,  we  ought  not  to  overlook.     God  surely  has  not 
bound  himself  to  grant  our  requests  blindly  and  indis- 
criminately.    "  If  we  ask  any  thing  according  to  his 
will,"  and  his  will  is  always  coincident  with  our  real  wel- 
fare, for  there  is  no   such  thing  as   any  thing  being 
really  good  for  us  which  is  contrary  to  God's  will,  "  he 
heareth  us."     There  is  here  a  most  important  limita- 
tion and  exception.     And  yet  we  ought  not  to  believe, 
that  even  those  applications  which  are  offered  mistaken- 
ly, in  our  blindness  and  ignorance,  are  wasted  breath. 
In  all  true  prayer,  "the  Spirit  helpeth  our  infirmities." 
And  God  "knoweth  what  is  the  mind  of  the  Spirit,"  a 
different  mind  from  ours,  it  may  be,  and  certainly  a 
wiser,  for  "He  maketh  intercession  for  the  saints  ac- 
cording to  the  will  of  God."     He  will  in  all  such  cases 
hear  us  according  to  the  Spirit's  meaning,  and  not  ac- 
cording to  our  own.     We  prayed  for  a  good,  and  if 
we  asked  an  evil  supposing  it  to  be  a  good,  God  will 
withhold  the  evil  for  which  we  asked  in  word,  and  give 
us  the  good  for  which  we  asked  in  intention.     We  pray 
always,  if  we  pray  wisely,  with  a  tacit,  if  not  an  express 
reservation  and  proviso — If  it  be  thy  will;  if  it  be 
really  conducive  to  our  welfare.    And  we  mean  always, 
that  if  in  these  respects  we  err,  God,  the  All-wise, 
shall  correct  our  petitions  for  us,  and  substitute  what 
we  need  for  what  we  desire.     A  parent,  in  the  exercise 
of  his  parental  authority  and  discretion,  will  often  feel 


THE  ANSWER  TO  PRAYER  RECEIVED  BY  FAITH.    23T 

obliged  to  deny  the  requests  of  his  children.  But  no. 
parent,  if  he  be  really  wise,  will  coldly  repel  the  trust- 
ful approaches  of  his  family.  He  will  often  feel  cam- 
pelled  to  say,  I  cannot  give  you  this,  for  it  would  do 
you  harm,  but  he  will  always  add,  I  will  give  you  some- 
thing in  its  stead,  which  is  better  for  you.  God  is  vir- 
tually saying  the  same  thing  to  us  continually.  The 
removal  of  a  trouble,  for  instance,  may  not  be  so  great 
a  blessing  to  us  as  grace  to  bear  it;  and  in  that  case, 
God  will  withhold  the  inferior  good  which  we  ask,  and 
give  us  the  greater  good  which  we  do  not  ask.  "For 
this,"  says  St.  Paul,  (he  meant  his  "thorn  in  the  flesh,") 
"I  besought  the  Lord  thrice,  that  it  might  depart  from 
me.  But  he  answered  me.  My  grace  is  sufficient  for 
thee."  He  graciously  construes  our  meaning  for  us, 
according  to  his  deep,  penetrating  insight,  and  not  ac- 
cording to  our  shallow  impressions.  It  is  as  though 
he  said.  You  do  not  mean  what  you  say,  for  you  are 
misled  by  false  impressions.  I  will  give  your  words  a 
meaning  more  compatible  with  your  real  welfare ;  and, 
while  I  honour  your  faith  in  asking,  honour  it  by  an 
attention  to  your  actual  interests,  rather  than  by  a 
compliance  with  your  fallacious  desires.  Thus  we  see, 
that  the  answer  of  prayer  is  no  more  always  literal  in 
kind,  than,  as  we  have  seen  before,  it  is  always  imme- 
diate in  time,  or  direct  in  manner. 

From  all  these  considerations,  it  must  appear  to  re- 
flecting minds,  that  the  answer  of  prayer  must  neces- 
sarily be  a  thing  of  great  obscurity  and  of  manifold 
disguises ;  and  that  our  confidence  in  it,  and  consequent 
satisfaction  from  it,  must  rest  far  more  on  the  word  of 
21 


238  SERMON  XX. 

God,  than  upon  direct  experience,  observation,  recog- 
nition, consciousness.  And  thus  the  truth  in  regard 
to  this  solemn  and  interesting  subject  stands  well  em- 
bodied and  vindicated  in  the  words  of  the  text :  "  And 
this  is  the  confidence  that  we  have  in  him,  that  if  we 
ask  any  thing  according  to  his  will,  he  heareth  us : 
and  if  we  know  that  he  hear  us,  we  know  tliat  we  have 
the  petitions  that  we  desired  of  him  " — and  in  those  pa- 
rallel words  of  our  Saviour:  "What  things  soever  ye 
desire  when  ye  pray,  believe  that  ye  receive  them,  and 
ye  shall  have  them."  And  this  view,  it  is  thought,  is 
very  needful  in  order  to  preserve  men  from  the  dis- 
quietude, disappointment  and  despondency,  which  an 
opposite  view  is  fitted  to  engender.  It  enables  men  to 
commit  their  cause  to  God,  w^ith  that  calm  confidence 
and  serenity,  which  an  unshaken  trust  in  his  goodness 
and  fidelity  cannot  fail  to  inspire ;  a  trust,  built  not  on 
outward  tokens  and  visible  manifestations,  but  on  the 
exhaustless  truth  and  love  of  the  unchangeable  God. 
"Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace  whose  mind  is 
stayed  on  thee,  because  he  trusteth  in  thee." 


FEARFUL  ODDS.  239 


SERMON   XXI. 

FEARFUL   ODDS. 

If  thou  bast  run  -with  the  footmen,  and  they  have  wearied  thee, 
then  how  canst  thou  contend  with  horses?  And  if  in  the  land 
of  peace,  wherein  thou  trustedst,  they  wearied  thee,  then  how 
wilt  thou  do  in  the  swelling  of  Jordan  ? — Jeremiah  xii.  5. 

This  life  abounds  with  trials  and  troubles,  which 
it  is  hard  for  flesh  to  combat  and  endure.  We  weary 
and  faint  under  their  frequent  recurrence,  and  find 
both  the  tone  of  our  minds  and  the  vigour  of  our  bodies 
gradually  worn  and  bowed  by  the  toils  of  an  incessant 
and  hopeless  warfare.  The  buoyancy  of  our  youthful 
hope  soon  sinks  under  the  buffetings  of  a  continual 
storm;  we  find  our  spirits  flag  and  our  arms  hang 
down,  as  we  struggle  on  against  its  fury ;  and  some- 
times, when,  as  ever  and  anon  it  will,  the  tempest 
augments  its  rage  and  fierceness,  we  are  ready  to  cry 
out,  with  the  desponding  patriarch,  "  I  loathe  it :  I  would 
not  live  alway,"  or  exclaim,  with  the  persecuted 
Psalmist,  "  Oh  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove !  Lo !  then 
would  I  fly  away,  and  be  at  rest.  Lo !  then  would  I 
wander  far  off",  and  remain  in  the  wilderness.  I  would 
hasten  my  escape  from  the  windy  storm  and  tempest." 

But  though  "we  that  are  in  this  tabernacle  do  groan 
being  burdened,"  and  often,  in  our  fretfulness  and  de- 
spair, are  ready  to  relieve  ourselves  of  the  pressure  of 


^40  SERMON  XXI. 

our  load  of  ills  by  leaving  that  "earthly  house"  in 
■which  they  have  gained  too  firm  a  lodgement  to  be 
driven  out;  yet,  when  the  scenes  which  await  us  on 
being  ** unclothed"  rush  upon  the  mind,  we  instinctive- 
ly shrink  back  into  our  shattered  and  uncomfortable 
dwelling,  glad  even  of  so  poor  a  shelter  from  the  ter- 
rors and  perils  that  wait  without,  ^ye  call  death  to 
our  rescue ;  but  arc  sore  affrighted  with  his  ugliness, 
and  recoil  from  his  presence,  when  he  obeys  our  sum- 
mons. Alas !  we  then  find,  that  there  are  evils  worse 
than  those  from  which  we  have  sought  a  riddance; 
that  relief  from  life's  troubles  may  be  purchased  at 
too  dear  a  price;  and  that  an  impatient  flight  from 
pursuing  enemies  has  only  driven  us  into  the  toils 
of  their  chief  and  king.  The  trials  and  harassments 
that  betide  us  are  fraught  with  a  wiser  and  more 
profitable  lesson  than  this, — one  which  we  shall  do 
well  to  heed.  They  may  be  counted  as  experiments 
on  our  powers  of  endurance,  tests  of  our  strength, 
and,  in  their  actual  operation,  alas !  proofs  how  little 
is  our  fortitude,  how  great  our  w^eakness.  They  are 
but  preliminary  visits,  admonitory  essays,  faint  fore- 
tokenings  and  earnests,  of  that  death  and  judgment, 
which  are  shortly  to  come.  And,  as  we  quail  and 
shrink  before  them,  we  should  be  taught  our  native 
feebleness,  and  our  incapacity  to  meet  the  sorer  con- 
flicts that  await  us ;  and  thus  be  led  to  cast  about  us 
for  foreign  aid,  and,  with  all  promptitude  and  dili- 
gence, labour  to  provide  ourselves  with  "weapons 
mighty  through  God,"  and  auxiliaries  of  heavenly 
prowess,  against  "  the  coming  of  the  great  and  dread- 


FEARFUL  ODDS.  241 

ful  day  of  the  Lord."  "If  thou  faintest  in  the  day  of 
adversity,  thy  strength  is  small,"  inadequate  utterly 
to  the  exigencies,  the  pains,  vexations  and  vicissitudes 
of  life; — how  then  will  it  stand  thee  in  stead  "in  the 
hour  of  death  and  in  the  day  of  judgment?"  If  flesh 
and  heart  could  not  hold  thee  up  in  tho'time  of  earthly 
trouble,  if  physical  nerve  and  mental  resolution  gave 
way  before  the  assaults  of  disease  and  sorrow, — then 
what  shall  stay  thee  up  when  "flesh  and  heart  fail," 
when  body  and  spirit  faint  together  in  the  grasp  of 
death?  "If  thou  hast  run  with  the  footmen,  and  they 
have  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  contend  with 
horses?  And  if  in  the  land  of  peace,  wherein  thou 
trustedst,  they  wearied  thee, — then  how  wilt  thou  do  in 
the  swelling  of  Jordan?"  If  thou  art  overborne  and 
cast  down  by  "these  light  afflictions  which  are  but  for 
a  moment," — then,  how  wilt  thou  "dwell  with  the  de- 
vouring fire?"  how  wilt  thou  "dwell  w^ith  everlasting 
burnings?"  If  now,  conscious  guilt  and  pollution 
make  thee  tremble  at  the  thought  of  an  unseen,  but 
just,  and  holy,  and  present,  and  observing  God, — then, 
oh !  how  wilt  thou  bear  to  meet  him  face  to  face,  re- 
vealed to  thy  immediate  perception,  bearing  in  his 
hand  the  record  of  thy  misdeeds,  and  pointing  to  the 
stains  and  defilements  of  thy  soul?  "Can  thy  heart 
endure,  or  thy  hands  be  strong,  in  the  day  when  he 
shall  deal  with  thee  ?"  Rather,  convinced  of  thy 
incompetency  to  endure  even  the  "  few  stripes,"  which 
he  lays  on  thee  while  "  his  wrath  is  kindled  but  a  little," 
to  warn  thee  with  paternal  kindness,  by  these  "hidings 
of  his  power,"  how  terrible  and  ruinous  the  visitings 

21* 


242  SERMON  XXI. 

of  his  hand  will  be,  when  he  shall  "  suffer  his  whole 
displeasure  to  arise,"  and  "  awake  to  the  judgment  he 
hath  appointed"  and  purposes,  but  long  postpones; 
now,  "in  this  thy  day,"  make  him  thy  friend,  engage 
him  to  stand  upon  thy  part,  "  take  hold  upon  his 
strength  to  make  peace  with  him;"  that,  by  his  aid 
and  countenance,  through  which  only  thou  canst,  thou 
mayst  be  "  able  to  withstand  in  the  evil  day,  and, 
having  done  all  to  stand." 

I  invite  you,  with  the  view  of  impressing  this  con- 
sideration more  forcibly,  to  a  brief  survey  of  the 
weakness  of  man  under  some  of  the  principal  evils  of 
the  present  state  of  being,  as  evincing  his  alarming 
insufficiency  to  encounter  the  correspondent  but  ag- 
gravated circumstances  of  the  world  to  come. 

In  "passing  through  this  vale  of  misery,"  we  are 
assailed  with  afflictions  of  "mind,  body  and  estate;" 
and  in  their  effects,  are  forewarned  of  similar  but 
fiercer  assaults,  which  await  us,  when  its  rough  and 
painful  declivity  shall  at  length  land  us  in  that  deeper 
and  darker  "valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,"  in  which 
it  ends. 

I.  The  troubles  of  the  mind  in  this  life  are  often 
sharp  and  bitter,  enough  to  tax  its  powers  to  the 
seeming  limit  of  endurance.  We  see  the  spirit  often 
fail  before  them,  stunned  or  frenzied  by  their  violence. 
The  mind  is,  indeed,  the  seat  of  all  sorrow,  since  it 
is  not  any  arrangement  of  mechanism  that  can  per- 
ceive and  feel.  The  corporeal  senses  are  but  avenues, 
by  which  information  reaches  the  obscure  recess  where 
thought  and  feeling  dwell,  in  order  to  put  the  spiritual 


FEARFUL  ODDS.  243 

inmate  into  a  state  of  suffering  or  pleasure  suitable  to 
its  good  or  evil  tidings,  a  telegraphic  system,  by  ^Yllicll 
the  spirit  holds  communication  with  the  distant  objects 
of  an  external  world.  What  we  call  bodily  pain  and 
pleasure,  are  but  impressions  made  upon  the  soul  by 
the  intelligence  which  it  receives  of  some  harm  or 
kindness  done  to  its  fleshly  dwelling.  But  those  are, 
in  an  especial  manner,  the  troubles  of  the  mind,  which 
originate  in  its  own  substance,  which  arise  from  the 
contemplation  of  its  own  operations,  character  and 
prospects. 

AVhen  the  mind  looks  back  upon  its  past  history, 
views  its  present  state,  and  anticipates  its  future  des- 
tiny, and  finds  in  them  respectively  occasions  of  re- 
gret, shame  and  alarm,  it  is  filled  with  acute  sufi"ering. 
And  if  this  survey  is  directed  to  its  moral  condition 
and  relations,  if  it  is  led  to  view  itself  as  endowed 
with  a  capacity  to  know  and  choose  good  and  evil,  as 
having  its  being  under  the  government  of  God,  bound 
to  obey  his  laws,  and  liable  to  answer  at  his  throne  for 
all  its  faults  and  offences,  it  tastes  the  bitterness  of  an 
accusing  conscience,  and  is  stung  with  keen  remorse, 
and  agitated  with  horrible  dread.  And  there  are 
times  in  the  life  of  every  man,  when  conscience  thus 
puts  forth  its  fearful  power,  and  exchanges  the  low 
muttering  of  its  ordinary  reproofs  for  the  loud  thun- 
der of  a  stern  and  pointed  rebuke ;  when  its  smoulder- 
ing fire  flashes  up  with  the  blaze  of  a  "furnace  heated 
one  seven  times  more  than  it  is  wont  to  be  heated." 
Then  it  is,  that  conscience  intimates  its  dormant 
power,  and  hints  at  the  torment  which  it  knows  how  to 


244  SERMON  XXI. 

inflict.  Yet,  we  may  be  well  assured,  that  its  doings, 
even  at  these  times,  are  but  hints  of  what  it  can  and 
will  do.  "VYe  know  that  sometimes  the  memory  gains 
a  strange  vividness;  or  the  thoughts  get  a  terrible 
fixedness  and  motionless  concentration  upon  some 
single  sin,  it  may  be,  remote,  but  oftener,  recent;  or  a 
sudden  gleam  of  irresistible  self-knowledge  breaks 
forth,  and  horribly  lights  up  the  dark  closets  of  the 
soul;  or  the  thick  cloud  that  hides  futurity  bursts 
apart  and  rolls  aside,  and  the  habitual  "looking-for 
of  judgment"  becomes  a  looking  of  perdition  in  the 
face.  And  then,  we  guess,  what  stores  of  pain,  me- 
mory, with  its  unimaginable  fulness  of  charges,  and 
reflection,  without  recess  or  end,  on  every  one  of  them, 
and  self-estimation,  just,  clear,  perfect  and  perpetual, 
and  expectation,  certain,  vivid  and  far-reaching,  con- 
tain, and  are  keeping  against  the  day  of  our  departure 
from  the  body  and  arraignment  before  God.  Then, 
indeed,  are  the  ''arrows  of  the  Almighty  within  us,  the 
poison  whereof  drinketh  up  our  spirit:"  then,  "the 
terrors  of  God  set  themselves  in  array  against  us." 

Yet,  in  such  moments  of  unwonted  moral  illumina- 
tion, we  do  but  guess  of  that  which  shortly  shall  be. 
What  the  eye  then  sees,  it  sees,  after  all,  but  "through 
a  glass  darkly."  And  oh!  if  the  glimpse  be  so  horri- 
ble, what  shall  be  the  naked  vision  ?  If  such  periods 
be  so  rich  in  suff*ering,  what  shall  be  the  eternity  they 
foreshadow  ?  If  the  sinful  soul  so  faints  under  a 
single  ray  from  the  distant  presence  of  its  God,  how 
shall  it  bear  the  concentrated  brightness  of  the  beams 
of  his  near  and  visible  majesty?     And  oh!  then,  how 


FEARFUL  ODDS.  245 

sliglit  is  the  extremest  torture  that  conscience  can 
now  inflict,  to  the  misery  of  that  hour,  when  God  shall 
come  "to  convince  all  that  are  ungodly  among  you 
of  all  their  ungodly  deeds  which  they  have  ungodly 
committed?"  For  memory  is  now  exceedingly  im- 
perfect, and  self-knowledge  partial,  and  the  horrors 
of  the  prospect  before  us  mitigated  by  the  medium 
of  future  opportunity  and  preparation,  through  which 
they  are  seen.  Time  covers  up  much  of  our  wicked- 
ness from  ourselves;  and  self-love  and  the  "deceitful- 
ness  of  sin"  soften  the  ugliness  of  our  faults;  and 
futurity  presents  a  thousand  avenues  of  escape,  and 
"convenient  seasons"  of  reformation.  Thus  we  now 
have  resorts  and  refuges  whither  we  can  betake  our- 
selves from  the  arrows  of  conscience.  Then,  oh ! 
"if  in  this  land  of  peace  wherein  we  trust," — wherein 
there  is  so  much  in  which  the  soul  may  confide,  so 
much  to  stay  it  up,  and  give  it  quietness  in  reference 
to  its  controversy  and  reckoning  with  God, — we  find 
the  sense  of  our  sinfulness  and  the  apprehensions  of 
wrath  too  much  for  us,  a  wearisome  "  burden  too  heavy 
to  be  borne,"  what,  oh!  what  "shall  we  do  in  the 
swelling  of  Jordan,"  when  "the  waters  shall  overfiow 
our  hiding-places?"  Now,  Christ  is  "a  covert  from 
the  storm,"  accessible  even  if  not  entered,  and  there 
is  relief  in  the  sight  of  its  nearness  and  sufiiciency; 
"but  in  the  floods  of  great  waters,  they  shall  not 
come  nigh  him."  And  if  "a  wounded  spirit  we  can- 
not bear,"  now,  while  there  are  so  many  nostrums  of 
our  own  to  soothe  its  pains,  while  there  is  a  sovereign 
balm  at  hand  to  heal  it,  and  a  good  Physician  near 


246  SERMON  XXI. 

to  bind  it  up ;  how,  oh !  how  shall  we  endure  its  smart, 
when  ^'indignation  shall  vex  it  as  a  thing  that  is  raw  " 
beneath  its  own  eye;  and  the  eye  of  God,  shining  into 
it  with  an  insufferable  brightness,  shall  give  it  a  keen 
sense  of  what  it  has  been,  is,  and  shall  be,  and  all  the 
universe  cannot  afford  it  a  covert,  or  a  balsam  to  as- 
suage its  agony? 

II.  The  body  has  its  pains,  too,  in  this  life,  and 
they  are  many  and  exquisite.  We  are  "  fearfully  "  as 
well  as  "wonderfully  made,"  compacted  of  an  infi- 
nite number  of  frail,  delicate  and  sensitive  fibres, 
which  are  broken  and  lacerated  by  very  trivial  causes 
and  accidents.  We  are  "crushed  before  the  moth;" 
and  we  are  surrounded  by  firmer  substances,  the  very 
contact  and  motion  of  which  endanger  things  so  fra- 
gile. Yes,  we  are  creatures  highly  susceptible  of  in- 
jury and  pain,  living  in  an  armory  filled  with  instru- 
ments of  death  and  engines  of  torture,  which  almost 
the  impulse  of  our  breath  or  the  weight  of  our  finger 
is  enouo;h  to  move  to  their  work  of  destruction  and 
torment.  And  but  that  God  "  keepeth  all  our  bones," 
and  "  giveth  his  angels  charge  concerning  us  to  keep 
us  in  all  our  ways,"  and  watches  over  us  with  a  care 
that  is  well  nigh  miraculous,  our  life  would  be  nought 
else  but  pain  and  agony. 

When  God  is  pleased,  sometimes,  in  order  to  teach 
us  a  lesson  of  our  dependence,  to  intermit  his  care, 
terrible  diseases  and  calamities  teach  us  how  nume- 
rous and  wide  are  the  inlets,  by  which  distress  may 
enter,  in  the  texture  of  these  mortal  bodies.  Go, 
stand  by  some  couch  of  suffering,  where  sickness  has 


FEARFUL  ODDS.  247 

laid  a  fellow-being,  and  learn  how  much  man  may  suf- 
fer, in  the  words,  but  more  in  the  looks  and  motions, 
of  the  sufferer.  His  whole  aspect  is  an  affecting  ap- 
peal for  help,  which  we  have  no  power  to  render. 
"  He  is  chastened  with  pain  upon  his  bed,  and  the 
multitude  of  his  bones  with  strong  pain:  so  that  his 
life  abhorreth  bread,  and  his  soul  dainty  meat.  His 
flesh  is  consumed  away,  that  it  cannot  be  seen ;  and 
his  bones  that  were  not  seen  stick  out."  Ah!  he 
exclaims,  "My  heart  is  smitten,  and  withered  like 
grass;  so  that  I  forget  to  eat  my  bread."  "I  am  made 
to  possess  months  of  vanity,  and  wearisome  nights 
are  appointed  to  me.  When  I  lie  down,  I  say, 
When  shall  I  arise,  and  the  night  be  gone?  I 
am  full  of  tossings  to  and  fro  unto  the  dawning  of 
the  day."  ''When  I  say.  My  bed  shall  comfort  me, 
my  couch  shall  ease  my  complaint ;  then  thou  scarest 
me  with  dreams  and  terrifiest  me  with  visions ;  so  that 
my  soul  chooseth  strangling  and  death  rather  than  my 
life.  I  loathe  it:  I  would  not  live  alway."  But  in  all 
this  there  has  no  affliction  "taken  him,  but  that  which 
is  common  unto  men."  These  are  mortal  sufferings, 
laid  upon  a  mortal  by  Him,  who  will  lay  upon  us  no 
greater  burden  than  we  are  able  to  bear.  .  Yet  they 
are  enough  to  rob  life  of  its  worth,  to  make  men  weary 
of  it,  as  we  see,  and  even  "rejoice  when  they  can  find 
the  grave." 

What  then,  may  be  the  sufferings  of  which  an  im- 
mortal and  "spiritual  body"  may  be  capable?  And 
how  intolerable  the  anguish,  of  which  the  refined  and 
exquisite  texture  of  that  indestructible  and  everlasting 


248  SERMON  XXI. 

organization  which  awaits  us  at  the  resurrection,  may 
be  susceptible!  And,  if  the  physical  pains  of  such 
gross  and  dull  senses  as  we  now  possess,  be  so  terrible, 
what  may  we  imagine  to  be  the  miseries  of  the  more 
lively  and  pungent  sensibilities,  with  which  we  shall 
be  endowed  hereafter?  We  know  not  what  depth 
of  meaning  is  hidden  in  the  phraseology  of  an  un- 
quenchable fire,  an  undying  worm,  and  an  eternal 
death.  God  give  us  grace,  so  to  take  warning  from 
the  shrinking  of  our  nature  under  its  earthly  pains, 
that  we  be  not  left  to  endure  the  sharper  pangs  of 
an  incorruptible  and  more  excellent  body. 

III.  And  finally,  we  are  here  forced  to  endure  dis- 
tresses of  estate,  of  outward  and  relative  situation. 
Though  the  mind  be  at  peace  with  itself,  and  the  body 
be  sound,  we  may  labour  under  great  disadvantages 
and  annoyances  of  position,  the  perception  and  influ- 
ence of  which  are  enough  to  imbitter  our  days.  "The 
destruction  of  the  poor  is  their  poverty."  "And  op- 
pression maketh  a  wise  man  mad."  Lot,  by  an  evil 
choice,  makes  his  abode  in  obscene  and  abominable 
Sodom,  and  his  soul  is  "vexed  with  the  filthy  conver- 
sation of  the  wicked."  David  wanders  ofi"  among  the 
heathen;  and  soon  he  is  forced  to  cry,  "My  soul  hath 
long  dwelt  with  them  w^ho  are  enemies  to  peace!" 
"  Wo  is  me,  that  I  am  constrained  to  sojourn  in  Me- 
sech,  and  to  have  my  habitation  in  the  tents  of  Ke- 
dar."  Jeremiah  stays  at  home  among  his  own  people ; 
but  his  plaint  is  not  less  heavy:  "Oh,  that  I  had  in 
the  wilderness  a  lodging-place  of  wa^^-faring  men,  that 
I  might  leave  my  people  and  go  from  them."     Per- 


FEARFUL  ODDS.  249 

haps  ^'a  man's  foes  are  they  of  his  own  household." 
There  is  no  sorer  trouble  than  that.  Here  is  one  who 
wears  the  outward  paraphernalia  of  consequence  and 
prosperity,  but  there  is  a  worm  gnawing  at  the  heart 
of  his  happiness.  There  is  some  hidden  mischief  that 
spoils  all;  some  vicious,  or  sickly,  or  idiot  child,  it 
may  be,  some  wayward  spirit  in  his  family,  some  "root 
of  bitterness  "  in  his  domestic  circumstances,  which 
men  either  do  not  see,  or  justly  estimate,  that  poisons 
all  his  good  things.  Yonder  is  a  man  who  might 
be  happy,  if  there  were  not  so  many  above  him  in 
society,  whose  level  he  cannot  reach.  A  little  matter 
will  suffice  to  destroy  the  sweetness  of  a  thousand 
blessings.  Haman,  though  a  king's  favourite,  said 
that  all  his  wealth  and  honours  "availed  him  nothing, 
so  long  as  Mordecai  the  Jew  sat  at  the  king's  gate," 
and  would  not  rise  to  do  him  reverence.  And  Ahab, 
though  the  king  himself,  went  to  bed  sad  and  sick,  be- 
cause Naboth  would  not  sell  him  a  piece  of  ground 
"for  a  garden  of  herbs."  Ahithophel  hung  himself 
just  because  his  advice  was  not  followed.  Rebecca 
was  weary  of  her  life,  because  she  did  not  like  Esau's 
wives.  And  Jonah  asked  God  to  kill  him,  because 
his  gourd  had  withered,  and  the  sun  was  hot.  What 
a  pitiful  picture  of  life  this  is.  I  know  of  nothing  that 
can  make  us  more  sensible  of  our  weakness,  than  the 
observation  of  the  trifling  causes  which  we  allow  to 
ruin  our  peace.  And  yet  there  are  a  plenty  of  evils  in 
the  circumstances  of  men,  that  are  not  trifles. 

Now,  if  we  find  it  so  hard  to  bear  the  inconveniences 
and  annoyances  of  this  life,  where  is  the  strength  to 
22 


250  SERMON  XXI. 

endure  the  discomforts  of  a  situation  in  a  -R-orld, 
"where  all  the  society  is  vile  and  malignant,  "hateful, 
and  hating  one  another,"  and  all  the  circumstances 
fraught  with  nothing  but  mortification,  disgrace,  re- 
straint, impotent  desire,  ineifectual  eifort,  and  hopeless 
resistance?  "If  thou  hast  run  with  the  footmen  and 
they  have  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  contend 
with  horses?  and  if  in  the  land  of  peace  wherein  thou 
trustedst,  they  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  do 
in  the  swelling  of  Jordan?  " 

"We  see  then,  my  brethren,  how  easily  we  are  made 
miserable ;  what  exposures  and  liabilities  to  suffering 
our  being  involves ;  how  small  are  our  powers,  either  of 
resistance  or  endurance.  We  contend  against  fearful 
odds ;  we  fight  w^ith  One  who  is  stronger  than  we. 
Oh !  then,  let  the  exhaustion  and  vexation  wherewith 
our  Omnipotent  Antagonist  makes  known  his  power, 
in  the  milder  visitings  of  his  displeasure  that  reach  us 
this  side  the  grave,  persuade  us  to  leave  ofi"  our  mad  re- 
bellion, and  seek  a  timely  peace.  "Knowing  the 
terror  of  the  Lord,  we  persuade  men;"  and  knowing 
it  yourselves  in  your  own  bitter  experience  of  "the 
power  of  his  wrath,"  oh!  do  not  resist  persuasion. 
God  wills  not  your  destruction.  He  "  is  slow  to  anger," 
as  well  as  "great  in  power."  He  is  "plenteous  in 
mercy,"  though  "he  will  by  no  means  clear  the 
guilty."  He  protests  against  the  fool-hardiness  with 
which  his  feeble  creatures  rush  on  to  a  conflict  in 
which  they  can  look  for  nothing  but  to  be  worsted 
and  ruined.  He  stands  among  you  in  the  person  of 
his  Son,  with  words  of  expostulation,  entreaty  and 


FEARFUL  ODDS.  251 

aifectlon,  and  tells  you  that  he  has  bought  you  with 
his  blood,  and  draws  you  with  his  grace,  and  keeps 
for  you  a  home  in  heaven.  Oh!  he  cries,  in  accents 
of  tender  pity,  je  feeble,  weary,  dying  creatures, 
leave  off  your  hopeless  and  fatal  cor^Est.  ''Come 
unto  me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy-laden,  and 
I  will  give  you  rest." 


252  SERMON  XXII. 


SERMON  XXII. 

THE   LAW   OF   LIBERTY. 

So  speak  ye,  and  so  do,  as  they  that  shall  be  judged  by  the  law  of 
liberty. — James  ii.  12. 

By  "  the  law  of  liberty ''  is  meant  the  gospel,  who&e 
principles  and  precepts  form  a  rule  of  life  now,  and 
will  be  the  rule  of  reward  hereafter.  It  is  a  law,  in* 
asmuch  as  it  prescribes  a  particular  form  of  character 
and  course  of  conduct  with  authority  and  sanc- 
tions; and  it  is  a  law  of  liberty,  inasmuch  as  the 
only  adequate  obedience  to  it  is  one  which  is  per- 
fectly free,  voluntary  and  cheerful.  It  is  a  law  that 
has  power  to  work  in  its  subjects  such  a  spirit,  as 
will  render  their  "service  perfect  freedom,"  procure 
from  them  a  willing  and  cheerful  performance  of  its 
behests,  and  create  such  a  thorough  coincidence  be- 
tween its  requirements  and  the  choice  of  their  wills, 
as  will  rid  their  submission  of  any  feeling  of  restraint 
or  awe  of  authority.  A  law  of  liberty  is  a  law  which 
a  man  obeys  freely  and  of  choice,  and,  in  obeying, 
accomplishes  as  truly  the  dictates  of  his  own  spirit, 
as  the  mandates  of  superior  power.  The  outward 
commandment  and  the  inward  impulse  coalesce;  and 
the  compliance  which  fulfils  the  injunction  of  the 
former,  gratifies  also  the  desire  of  the  latter.  So 
that,  reverent  and  implicit  subjection  becomes  a 
spontaneous  and  hearty,  and  so  an  easy  and  delight- 


THE  LAW  OF  LIBERTY.  253 

ful,  work.  The  law  is  not  taken  away,  but  ceases  to 
press  and  goad ;  because,  by  reason  of  an  inward  con- 
formity to  it,  it  is  scarcely  felt,  and  is  almost  as  though 
it  were  not, — inclination  anticipating  its  directions, 
and  lightening  all  its  tasks.  This  the  Psalmist 
meant,  when  he  said,  "  I  will  walk  at  liberty,  for  I 
seek  thy  precepts.''  The  gospel  becomes  thus  "a  law 
of  liberty,"  to  all  whom  it  renders  right-minded  and 
so  like-minded  with  itself,  in  two  respects. 

Our  speaking  and  doing,  the  sentiments  we  cherish 
and  avow,  and  the  course  of  conduct  we  pursue, 
should  be  conformed  to  this  law  and  iaibued  with  its 
spirit,  continually  controlled  by  the  consideration 
that  it  is  a  law  of  liberty,  one  which  can  be  adequately 
honoured  and  fulfilled  only  by  a  willing  and  generous 
obedience.  We  must  beware  of  a  servile,  grudging, 
niggard  temper;  of  having,  and  revealing  either  by 
words  or  acts,  any  thing  like  reluctance  and  com- 
pulsion; so  professing  or  performing  compliance,  as 
to  disclose  the  fact,  and  make  the  impression,  that  it 
is  forced  and  burdensome. 

We  are  to  remember,  moreover,  that  we  are  to  be 
judged  by  this  law.  Law  of  liberty  though  it  is,  and 
satisfied  with  none  other  than  a  free  and  voluntary 
subjection,  containing  in  itself  the  means  to  persuade 
and  enable  its  subjects  to  obey  "not  of  constraint  but 
willingly,"  and  counting  no  other  service  but  such  a 
one  of  any  value,  it  is  still  a  law,  an  authoritative 
rule  of  life,  creating  responsibility  in  those  to  whom 
it  is  given,  and  warning  them  of  a  day  when  their 
life  will  be  made  the  subject  of  strict  investigation 
under  its  terms  and  precepts,  and  eternal  retribution 

22* 


254  SEKMON  XXII. 

be  meted  out  to  them  according  thereto.  A  law  of 
liberty  is  not  then  mere  counsel,  nor  an  allowance  of 
unbridled  license  which  confounds  moral  distinctions 
and"  leaves  human  actions  without  guidance  and  con- 
trol; but  is  simply  a  law  so  marvellously  constructed, 
as  to  contain  within  itself  the  means  of  obtaining  the 
spontaneous  submission  of  those  over  whom  it  is  put, 
by  infusing  a  correspondence  to  its  will  into  their 
minds  and  hearts.  It  relieves  the  subject,  not  by 
lifting  off  his  burden,  but  by  fitting  his  shoulder  to 
bear  it  comfortably,  and,  as  it  were,  unconsciously. 
At  the  same  time,  it  relaxes  not  its  demand  upon 
those  who  will  not  yield  to  its  rectifying  and  libera- 
ting, influence,  but  presses  on  them  with  an  inexorable 
and  galling  obligation  while  they  live,  and  calls  them 
to  a  strict  and  ruinous  reckoning  in  the  world  to 
come. 

We  said  that  the  gospel  is  a  law  of  liberty  to  men 
in  two  respects. 

I.  It  is  such  by  its  transforming  effect  upon  their 
principles  and  dispositions.  A  law  is  oppressive,  and 
felt  to  be  a  restriction  upon  freedom  of  action,  only 
to  a  refractory  and  rebellious  mind.  The  misery  of 
man's  case  is,  that  he  "  is  not  subject  to  the  law  of  God, 
neither  indeed  can  be:''  that  is,  he  not  only  actually 
disobeys  it,  but  there  is  no  natural  ability  in  him  to 
fulfil  its  behests,  nor  any  provision  in  his  natural  cir- 
cumstances to  produce  it.  He  can  be  freed  only  by 
a  change  of  the  law,,  adapting  it  to  his  wishes  and 
inclinations,  or  by  a  change  of  himself,  adapting 
his  wishes  and  inclinations  to  it.  But,  the  law  of  God 
is  immutable,  intrinsically  and  necessarily,  inasmuch 


THE  LAW  OF  LIBERTY.  255 

as  it  is  his  authoritative  declaration  of  what  is  right 
and  best  for  his  creatures;  and  of  what  he,  as  a  being 
of  infinite  righteousness,  goodness  and  wisdom,  wills 
them  to  be  and  to  do.  It  cannot  alter  therefore, 
till  He  changes  who  is  "  the  same  yesterday,  to-day, 
and  forever,"  and  could  not  be  any  otherwise  than 
he  is  without  deterioration  and  ceasing  to  be  God ;  or 
till  man  loses  the  capacities  and  relations  with  which 
creative  power  has  endowed  him  and  ceases  to  be  man. 
There  can  be  no  mutation  or  yielding  then  on  that  side. 
The  gospel  does  not  repeal  or  alter  God's  law,  but  re- 
publishes it  with  some  remedial  and  corrective  accom- 
paniments. By  these,  it  aims  to  effect  relief  for  man 
in  that  only  other  way  which  is  practicable, — the  rec- 
tification of  his  wishes  and  inclinations,  so  as  to  make 
them  coincide  with  the  behests  of  the  law,  in  order 
that  he  may  not  be  free  without  obedience,  but  free  in 
obedience.  To  this,  as  one  of  its  two  main  ends,  are 
all  the  provisions  of  the  gospel,  as  contradistinguished 
from  the  law,  directed.  This  it  aims  to  accomplish 
by  its  work  of  atonement  and  satisfaction,  clearing 
the  way  for  the  exercise  of  mercy,  by  its  offer  of  par- 
don through  that  atonement,  by  its  gift  of  the  Spirit, 
and  by  its  promise  of  eternal  life  to  the  believing  and 
penitent.  This  it  effects,  whenever,  by  its  overtures 
and  influences  it  induces  any  man  to  renounce  his  re- 
bellion, and  return  to  the  service  of  his  rightful 
Lord.  This  the  Scriptures  mean,  when  they  say,  "  If 
the  Son  shall  make  you  free,  ye  shall  be  free  indeed ; " 
and  speak  of  the  law  as  dead,  and  believers  as  "  not 
under  the  law,"  that  is,  no  longer  exposed  to  its  pe- 
nalty, nor  tormented  with  its  disagreeable  demands, 


256  SERMON  XXII. 

not  because  its  demands  have  ceased,  but  because, 
through  an  inward  rectification  they  have  ceased  to 
be  disagreeable.  The  deliverance  is  gradual,  as  the 
work  of  conformity  goes  on;  and  as  the  latter  is  not 
complete  now,  so  only  in  heaven  do  we  attain  com- 
pletely "the  glorious  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God.'' 
This  is  so  well  said  by  another,  that  I  cannot  do  bet- 
ter than  quote  his  words. ^  "This  law,  (the  law  of 
moral  good,  the  law  which  teaches  men  how  they 
ought  to  live,  and  how  they  ought  not,)  is  not  made 
for  good  men,  but  for  evil.  It  is  so  manifest  that 
strict  rules  are  required,  just  exactly  in  proportion  to 
our  inability  or  want  of  will  to  rule  ourselves;  it  is 
so  very  plain  that  with  regard  to  those  crimes  which 
we  are  under  no  temptation  to  commit,  we  feel  exactly 
as  if  there  were  no  law.  AVhich  of  us  ever  thinks,  as 
a  matter  of  personal  concern,  of  the  law  which  con- 
demns murderers  or  housebreakers,  or  those  who  ma- 
liciously set  fire  to  their  neighbour's  property?  Do 
we  not  feel,  that  as  far  as  our  conduct  is  concerned, 
it  would  be  exactly  the  same  if  no  such  law  were 
in  existence?  We  should  no  more  murder,  or  rob, 
or  set  fire  to  houses  and  barns,  if  the  law  were  wholly 
done  away,  than  we  do  now  that  it  is  in  force.  It  is 
dead  to  us,  and  we  are  at  liberty  under  it.  And  there 
is  no  doubt  also,  that  the  same  freedom  from  the  law, 
which  we  ourselves  experience  daily  in  respect  to 
some  particular  great  crimes,  (for  as  I  said,  we  do  not 
feel  that  it  is  fear  of  the  law  which  keeps  us  from  mur- 
der and  robbing,)  that  very  same  freedom  is  felt  by 

*  Dr.  Arnold's  Sermons. 


THE  LAW  OF  LIBERTY.  257 

good  men  in  many  other  points,  where  it  may  be  that 
we  ourselves  do  not  feel  it.  A  common  instance  may 
be  given  with  respect  to  prayer  and  the  outward  wor- 
ship of  God.  There  are  a  great  many  who  feel  this 
as  a  duty;  but  there  are  also  many  to  whom  it  is  not 
so  much  a  duty,  as  a  privilege  and  a  pleasure,  and 
these  are  dead  to  the  law  which  commands  us  to  be 
instant  in  prayer,  just  as  we  in  general  are  dead  to 
the  law  which  commands  us  to  do  no  murder.  This 
being  understood,  it  will  be  perfectly  plain  why  St. 
Paul,  along  with  all  his  language  as  to  the  law  being 
passed  away,  and  our  becoming  dead  to  it,  yet  uses 
very  frequently  language  of  another  kind,  which 
shows  that  the  law  is  not  dead  in  itself,  but  lives,  and 
ever  will  live.  He  says,  '  We  must  all  stand  before 
the  judgment  seat  of  Christ,  that  every  one  may  re- 
ceive according  to  what  he  hath  done  in  the  body.' 
And  he  adds,  'Knowing,  therefore,  the  terror  of  the 
Lord,  we  persuade  men.'  But  the  judgment  and  ter- 
ror of  the  Lord,  mean  precisely  what  are  meant  by 
tlie  law.  And  this  language  of  St.  Paul  shows  most 
clearly,  that  unless  we  are  first  dead  to  the  law,  the 
law  is  not  and  never  will  be  dead  to  us." 

On  the  whole,  it  appears  there  is  no  liberty  for  man 
to  be  found,  but  in  loving  his  service  thoroughly,  so 
that  its  cause  becomes  his  own.  The  Lord  Jesus 
says,  "Take  my  yoke  upon  you  and  learn  of  me,  and 
ye  shall  find  rest  to  your  souls;  for  my  yoke  is  easy, 
and  my  burden  is  light:  " — that  is,  though  it  is  a  yoke 
and  a  burden,  it  is  easy  and  light  to  such  as  take  it 
voluntarily,  love  it,  and  are  taught  of  him  to  wear  it 
cheerfully  and  happily, — to  such  as  come  to  him  for 


258  SERMON  XXII. 

pardon,  and,  in  faitli  and  heartfelt  gratitude,  devote 
themselves  to  him,  admit  his  Spirit  into  their  hearts, 
and  are  led  by  it  into  all  holy  and  obedient  ways. 
This  is  liberty — loving  God's  service;  and  the  gospel 
is  the  law  of  liberty,  inasmuch  as,  having  first,  by  its 
powerful  grace  and  persuasive  motives,  implanted  that 
love,  it  rules  its  subjects  afterwards,  with  the  silken 
cords  of  a  willing,  tractable,  submissive,  loyal  spirit. 

II.  The  gospel  is  a  law  of  liberty,  in  respect  to  its 
mode  of  legislatino^  for  men.  A  free-will  service  is 
always  a  profuse  and  generous  one ;  and  as  the  gospel 
produces,  expects  and  accepts  only  a  free-will  service, 
it  deals  with  its  subjects  accordingly,  as  with  beings 
who  will  have  no  inclination  to  economize  and  stint 
their  service,  and  dole  it  out  in  the  very  scantiest  mea- 
sures that  will  answer  the  literal  terms  of  demand.  It 
does  not  look  for  close  construction  and  parsimonious 
obedience  in  its  subjects,  but  supposes  them  to  be  in- 
flamed with  a  love  of  duty,  and  directed  by  a  spirit  of 
liberal  and  affectionate  loyalty. 

The  law,  we  have  had  occasion  to  say  already,  is 
immutable.  It  is  so  in  its  fundamental  principles  and 
general  requirements: — ''  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy 
God,  with  all  thy  heart," — "Thou  shalt  love  thy  neigh- 
bour as  thyself," — "  On  these  two  commandments  hang 
all  the  law."  So  "it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  and 
ever  shall  be,  world  without  end."  But,  the  particular 
modes  in  which  this  spirit  of  obedience  acts,  especially 
in  those  departments  of  conduct  of  which  God  is  the 
immediate  object,  religious  profession,  worship  and 
discipline,  differ  according  to  the  character  of  the  dis- 


THE  LAW  OF  LIBERTY.  259 

peiisatlons  to  which  they  pertain.  The  positive  and 
ritual  directions  of  the  old  law  were  numerous,  minute, 
circumstantial,  precise  and  rigid.  St.  Paul  calls  it  a 
^'law  of  commandments  contained  in  ordinances,"  and 
scruples  not  to  denominate  it  "  a  joke  of  bondage,"  and 
to  speak  of  it  as  only  fit  for  men  in  a  state  of  minority 
and  pupilage.  And  St.  Peter  declares  it  to  be  "a  yoke 
which  neither  we  nor  our  fathers  were  able  to  bear." 
There  is  nothing  trustful  and  confiding  about  it.  It 
leaves  no  room  for  the  exercise  of  discretion ;  it  con- 
fides nothing  to  the  generous  promptings  of  a  willing 
mind.  And  such  a  way  of  ruling  fitted  the  extent  in 
which  the  grace  and  mercy  of  God  were  then  disclosed. 
Now,  we  do  not  mean  to  say  that  piety  under  the  old, 
and  under  the  new  law,  are  diiferent  things, — the  one 
marked  with  servility  and  fear,  the  other  with  willing- 
ness and  love, — for  we  cannot  conceive  that  God  was 
ever  pleased  with  any  but  a  cordial  and  voluntary 
service.  But  then,  as  the  motives  and  helps  to  such 
a  service  were  then  fewer  and  weaker,  so  the  spirit  of 
it  must  have  been  ordinarily  feebler,  and  therefore 
have  had  more  need  to  be  reinforced  by  formal  and 
precise  directions.  So  w^e  find  it.  But  since  "grace 
and  truth  have  come  by  Jesus  Christ,"  we  may  expect 
more  spontaneousness  in  men's  obedience,  and  there- 
fore less  of  direct,  authoritative  legislation  to  them. 
So  again  we  find  it. 

The  careful  and  candid  reader  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment will  not  doubt  that  there  is  involved  in  it  an  out- 
line of  an  ecclesiastical  system,  a  church,  ministry,  or- 
dinances and  worship.     But  there  are  few  details,  and 


260  SERMON  XXII. 

no  extended  portraiture.  What  is  taught  comes  not  ordi- 
narily in  the  shape  of  an  injunction  or  a  statute.  We 
find  it  in  allusions,  in  records  of  apostolic  practice,  and 
in  incidental  references.  There  are  very  few  institu- 
tions or  practices  of  the  church  for  which  an  impera- 
tive injunction  can  be  shown.  And  there  are  many- 
people,  who,  on  that  very  account,  slight  the  positive 
parts  of  religion ;  and  some  of  them  think  they  evince 
their  spirituality  by  it.  But  they  show  in  fact  the 
bondage  of  their  minds,  that  they  "  serve  in  the  old- 
ness  of  the  letter,"  that  they  have  no  such  delight  in 
serving  God  as  will  make  them  heed  hinting,  and 
bend  themselves  to  compliance,  if,  by  any  means,  they 
can  discover  so  much  as  a  probability,  that  any  course 
is  pleasing  to  God, — that,  in  fine,  generosity  is  a  scanty 
ingredient  in  their  religion.  For  the  mind  of  God, 
in  these  respects,  though  it  be  not  shaped  into  a  precept, 
is  discoverable  by  a  teachable  spirit.  And  to  such 
a  spirit  this  will  be  law.  The  gospel  legislates  in 
moral  matters  also,  somewhat  in  the  same  fashion.  It 
tells  men  to  practise  self-denial,  and  not  to  be  con- 
formed to  this  world.  But  it  draws  out  no  detailed 
account  of  particulars  to  be  renounced  and  avoided. 
It  leaves  men  largely  to  the  exercise  of  discretion,  to 
determine  for  themselves  what  those  things  are  which 
are  contrary  to  God's  will  and  glory,  and  thereupon  to 
forego  and  avoid  them.  Remonstrate  with  many  peo- 
ple against  such  a  practice,  or  such  an  indulgence,  and 
they  will  call  upon  you  for  the  chapter  and  verse  in 
which  it  is  forbidden,  and  feel  triumphant,  if  you  can- 
not show  it.     Yet,  they  know  in  themselves  that  it 


THE  LAW  OF  LIBERTY.  261 

does  harm,  and  interferes  -with  God's  glory,  and  so  is 
contrary  to  liis  will,  and  falls  under  some  general  head 
of  prohibition.  One  cannot  help  fearing  that  such  per- 
sons are  restrained  in  other  less  questionable  things  by 
nothing  but  the  statute ;  and  that  they  would  sin  grossly, 
if  there  were  no  law  to  the  contrary.  At  any  rate, 
there  can  be  very  little  that  is  affectionate  and  free- 
hearted in  such  goodness.  The  gospel  aims  to  bring 
up  men's  dispositions  to  a  conformity  to  God's  law, 
and  so  to  emancipate  them  from  it  as  a  yoke,  by 
making  it  a  gentle  and  valued  directory.  And  it  gives 
directions  to  men  upon  the  supposition  that  its  design 
herein  is  accomplished  by  hints  and  suggestions,  judg- 
ing, and  I  am  sure,  rightly,  that  to  a  right-minded 
man,  it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  study  or  guess  out  his 
Heavenly  Father's  will,  and  conform  himself  to  it ;  be- 
cause it  gratifies  his  grateful  heart  to  feel  that  he  can 
render  some  service  which  is  not  extorted  by  a  pe- 
remptory command.  Thus  the  gospel  is  a  law  of  liberty. 
We  are  treated  as  sons,  not  as  servants,  not  subjected 
to  a  code  of  formal  commands,  but  addressed  as  those 
who  love  God  and  wish  to  please  him.  *'When  a  man 
gives  orders  to  those  who  he  thinks  will  mistake  him, 
or  are  perverse,  he  speaks  pointedly  and  explicitly ;  but 
when  he  gives  directions  to  friends,  he  will  trust  much 
to  their  knowledge  of  his  feelings  and  wishes ;  he  leaves 
much  to  their  discretion,  and  tells  them  not  so  much 
what  he  would  have  done  in  detail,  as  what  are  the 
objects  he  would  have  accomplished.  Now  this  is  the 
way  Christ  has  spoken  to  us  under  the  New  Covenant; 
and  apparently  with  this  reason,  to  try  us,  whether  or 
23 


.^ 


262  SERMON  XXII. 

not  we  really  love  him,  as  our  Lord  and  Saviour."  "  The 
question  which  a  reverend  and  affectionate  faith  will 
ask,  is,  what  is  most  likely  to  please  Christ;  and  this 
is  just  the  question  that  obtains  an  answer  in  Scrip- 
ture, which  contains  just  so  much  as  intimations  of 
what  is  most  likely  to  please  him."* 

You  see,  then,  how  the  service  of  God  is  to  become 
freedom  to  you,  namely,  by  imbibing  the  love  of  it  in 
your  heart,  and  conforming  your  wills  to  its  precepts. 
It  will  never  relax  or  change;  "till  heaven  and  earth 
pass,  one  jot  or  tittle  "  of  it  will  not  withdraw  its  claim ; 
you  can  never  shake  your  neck  free  from  the  obliga- 
tion to  obey  it.  "The  Son  must  make  you  free"  by 
"renewing  you  in  the  spirit  of  your  minds."  This  is 
all  the  deliverance  you  can  have.  And  you  may  have 
it,  if  you  will.  If  in  your  guilt,  weakness  and  misery, 
you  will  look  to  Christ,  and  commit  yourself  to  him 
for  salvation,  there  shall  such  a  sentiment  of  gratitude 
and  love  spring  up  within  you,  as  shall  make  you,  in- 
deed, new  creatures.  His  cross  and  his  Spirit  shall 
make  you  love  the  law  of  God,  and  rejoice  to  keep  it. 
"His  yoke  will  be  easy,  and  his  burden  will  be  light," 
while  you  walk  at  liberty — "followers  of  God  as  dear 
children," — in  "the  spirit  of  adoption." 

And  ye,  who  think  that  you  "  have  passed  from 
death  unto  life,"  try  yourselves  by  this  standard. 
What  is  the  character  and  spirit  of  your  obedience  ? 
Is  it  cheerful,  generous,  ready,  pleasant?  Is  it  your 
desire  to  know  what  God  would  have  you  to  do,  and  to 

*  Tracts  for  the  Times,  No.  8. 


THE  LAW  OF  LIBERTY.  263 

do  it  ?  Do  you  welcome  hints,  intimations  and  pro- 
babilities of  duty?  It  is  an  evil  sign  of  Christian  peo- 
ple to  see  them  always  hovering  on  the  very  verge  of 
positive  impropriety  and  disobedience,  casting  a  wish- 
ful eye  into  Satan's  territory,  and  arguing  with  the 
world  for  the  last  inch  of  debatable  ground  between 
them.  Oh !  rather  let  your  doings  and  renunciations 
for  Christ  be  generous.  "For  your  sakes  He  became 
poor."  In  return,  be  willing  to  do  much  and  renounce 
much,  and  with  light  and  willing  heart,  take  up  your 
cross  and  follow  him. 


264  SERMON  XXIII. 


SERMON  XXIII. 

THE   DAILY   CROSS. 

And  he  said  to  them  all,  If  any  man  -will  come  after  me,  let  him 
deny  himself  and  take  up  his  cross  daily,  and  follow  me.  St. 
Luke,  ix.  23. 

Christian  men  do  not  seem  to  remember,  that  the 
cross  which  they  are  required  to  take  up,  is  a  daily  cross. 
They  are  greatly  prone  to  regard  themselves  as  called 
to  endure  its  pressure  only  on  rare  and  uncommon 
occasions,  and  permitted  to  go  free  from  it  ordinarily. 
The  taking  up  of  the  cross  savours  of  martyrdom. 
Christians  are  not  apt  to  think  themselves  called  to 
martyrdom.  That  is  the  unenviable  honour  of  a  few 
choice  spirits  of  extraordinary  times.  Much  less  do 
they  dream  of  such  a  thing  as  an  habitual-,  a  life-long 
martyrdom ;  and  yet  our  Saviour  really  speaks  as  though 
he  meant  that  all  his  disciples  should  be  martyrs,  and 
the  whole  "general  assembly  and  church  of  the  first- 
born," a  ''noble  army  of  martyrs."  For  the  evange- 
list is  careful  to  tell  us  that  "he  said  to  them  all." 
And  he  himself  is  pointedly  particular  and  compre- 
hensive,— "If  any  man  will  come  after  me,  let  him 
take  up  his  cross."  And  this  martyrdom  was  to  be 
customary,  protracted,  unceasing.  The  cross  was  to 
be  taken  up  daily.  Not  a  single  day  of  any  disciple's 
life  should  pass  without  calls  and  occasions  for  cross- 
bearing.     For  not  one  day  of  all  his  sojourn  below, 


THE  DAILY  CROSS.  265 

could  any  Christian  innocently  and  consistently  refuse 
the  painful  burden,  or  disencumber  himself  of  the  in- 
strument of  his  appointed  torture.  When  the  cross  is 
no  longer  on  his  shoulder,  he  has  ceased  to  follow  Christ ; 
and  with  the  escape  from  the  disciple's  trial,  he  has 
undergone  the  forfeiture  of  the  disciple's  hope.  ^'No 
cross,  no  crown."  So  that  daily  cross-bearing  appears 
to  be  an  invariable,  indispensable,  essential  character- 
istic of  the  Christian  life.  It  is  wherever  that  life  is. 
It  extends  through  every  step  and  stage  of  that  life. 
It  endures  as  long  as  that  life  lasts. 

If  any  man  shall  be  disposed  to  accuse  us  of  clothing 
religion  with  a  forbidding  and  melancholy  aspect,  we 
answer,  That  is  not  our  fault:  we  cannot  help  it.  We 
have  received  our  message:  we  deliver  it.  AYe  speak 
the  very  words  of  One,  who  said,  "  Come  unto  me, 
all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest:  take  my  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of 
me,  and  ye  shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls;" — of  a 
Book,  which  nevertheless  affirms  of  heavenly  Wisdom, 
that  "her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her 
paths  are  peace." 

If  any  are  inquisitive  to  know  how  this  perpetual 
cross-bearing,  this  constant  living  in  the  spirit  of  a 
martyr,  and  in  painful  proximity  to  the  actual  endu- 
rances of  a  martyr,  can  be  rest  and  pleasantness  and 
peace,  we  fear  we  could  afford  them  no  satisfactory 
solution.  Christianity  is  full  of  paradoxes,  inexplicable 
in  words,  fully  harmonized  and  solved  in  experience 
and  practice.  Try  it,  and  you  will  quickly  learn  how 
its  sweet  and  bitter  ingredients  blend  and  agree.  "  The 
23* 


26G  SERMON  XXIII. 

natural  man  receivetli  not  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of 
God,  neither  can  he  know  them,  because  they  are 
spiritually  discerned."  Conversion  is  the  best  solution 
of  difficulties,  the  best  exposition  of  mysteries,  the  best 
reconcilement  of  contradictions.  AYe  will  only  suggest, 
that  a  man  may  live  both  an  inner  and  an  outer  life, 
and  that  these  may  not  always  be  harmonious.  He 
may  simultaneously  have  joys  in  the  one,  and  griefs  in 
the  other,  nay,  the  griefs  may  be  the  condition  of  the 
joys;  so  that  if  the  griefs  cease,  the  joys  perish  too. 
And  then,  he  may  endure  the  griefs  cheerfully  for  the 
sake  of  the  joys;  nay,  court  and  cherish  them,  and 
mourn  their  diminution  or  departure.  And  the  joys 
may  be  of  so  rich  and  precious  a  quality  as  to  compen- 
sate the  griefs  that  generate  and  sustain  them  a  thou- 
sand fold ;  so  that  a  man  may  be  the  greatest  of  losers 
by  losing  his  griefs,  because  with  them  he  inevitably 
loses  his  pleasures.  And  though  the  griefs  be  real  and 
undesirable  of  them.selves,  yet,  for  the  sake  of  their 
gracious  companions,  they  may  be  even  lovely  and 
amiable,  the  harbingers  and  occasions  of  delights  the 
best  that  man  can  know  on  earth,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
which,  the  alloy,  that  tempers  them  while  it  also  au- 
thorizes them,  is  gratefully  welcomed.  Oh !  there  are 
griefs  which  a  wise  man  would  not  willingly  miss.  This 
statement  is  true  in  regard  to  religion.  If  any  of  you 
desire  a  clearer  and  more  satisfactory  knowledge,  we 
advise  you  to  seek  it  by  experiment. 

Cross-bearing  then,  it  seems,  is  an  ordinary  and 
constant  feature  of  a  religious  life.  To  this  point  we 
intend  particularly  to  direct  your  attention. 

Now  if  the  cross  is  to  be  borne  daily,  and  the  bearing 


THE  DAILY  CROSS.  207 

of  the  cross  is  a  part  of  the  Christian's  daily  business 
and  service,  then  it  follows,  that  the  Christian's  life 
contains  daily  occasions  for  bearing  the  cross ;  that  its 
plan  is  so  constructed,  and  its  course  so  ordered,  as  to 
afford  opportunity  for  the  performance  of  this  duty 
every  day ;  that  no  day  passes  without  bringing  seasons 
more  or  less  numerous,  when  the  Christian,  if  he  be 
faithfully  meeting  the  call  of  his  Master,  complying 
with  his  gracious  will,  and  fulfilling  the  conditions  of 
discipleship,  will  be  taking  up  and  bearing  the  cross. 
It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  occasions  for  this 
painful  species  of  service  occur  only  at  distant  inter- 
vals and  in  a  few  marked  instances.  They  come  daily, 
hourly,  almost  momently.  And  it  is  no  ways  impro- 
bable that  some  quiet,  cheerful  Christian,  in  his  diurnal 
round  of  customary  duties,  is  uncomplainingly  doing 
tasks  and  meeting  trials,  unseen  and  unsuspected,  or 
in  the  eyes  of  beholders  not  difficult  or  painful,  in  the 
spirit  of  a  martyr,  tasks  and  trials  notwithstanding  so 
frequent  and  so  disagreeable  as  to  make  his  life  an  in- 
cessant martyrdom.  How  seldom  indeed  is  there  a  day, 
not  to  say  an  hour,  in  which  there  is  not  something  to  be 
done  or  something  to  be  borne  from  w^hich  nature  revolts 
and  craves  to  be  excused?  And  in  multitudes  of  such 
instances  there  is  a  way  of  escape  from  them,  which  is 
often  eagerly  embraced,  when  yet  it  is  manifestly  the  will 
of  Christ  that  there  should  not  be  an  escape.  Or  if  they 
are  not  escaped,  it  is  because  they  could  not  be ;  and 
they  are  encountered  grudgingly,  sullenly  or  peevishly, 
not  patiently  and  submissively.  Now  to  meet  these  calls 
to  unpleasant  labour  and  endurance  promptly  and  faith- 


268  SERMON  xxiir. 

fully,  is  to  bear  tlie  cross ;  to  disobey  them  if  possible, 
and  if  not,  receive  them  reluctantly  and  doggedly,  is  to 
refuse  the  cross.  And  thus  man's  spirit  is  brought 
to  the  test  very  frequently ;  and  the  attitude  of  his 
heart  towards  "  the  good  and  acceptable  and  perfect 
will  of  God,"  is  many  times  every  day  tried  and  dis- 
played. It  is  this  arrangement  and  structure  of  human 
life  that  makes  it  a  probation,  a  perpetual  series  of 
experiments,  by  which  God  examines  his  creature  "to 
humble  and  to  prove  him,  to  know  what  is  in  his  heart, 
whether  he  will  keep  his  commandments  or  no." 

Nor  is  experiment  all  or  chief.  Discipline  is  a  still 
higher  design  and  effect.  Every  instance  of  compliance 
nourishes  the  principles  of  faith,  love,  loyalty  and  obe- 
dience in  the  soul.  Every  instance  of  refusal  or  com- 
pulsory conformity  enfeebles  and  relaxes  that  spirit,  or 
indicates  its  absence.  We  know  not  what  injury  we 
are  doing  to  our  souls,  when  we  are  yielding  to  our 
indolence,  our  pusillanimity,  our  avarice,  our  love  of 
pleasure  and  of  ease,  what  fatal  wounds  we  are  inflict- 
ing on  our  best  interests,  what  alarming  proofs  we  are 
giving  that  either  "the  love  of  the  Father  is  not  in 
us,"  or  is  lamentably  weak.  We  think  w^e  are  not  re- 
fusing the  cross  because  it  is  not  tendered  to  us ;  and 
suppose,  that  if  any  trying  juncture  should  arise  to 
prove  our  attachment  and  fidelity,  we  "should  not  be 
ashamed  to  confess  the  faith  of  Christ  crucified,  and 
fight  manfully  under  his  banner; "  while  w^e  are  all  the 
while  retreating  before  the  most  insignificant  enemies. 
The  cross  is  tendered  to  us  every  hour  of  our  waking 
moments,  laid  upon  our  shoulder,  and  we  are  showing 


THE  DAILY  CROSS.  269 

how  we  are  affected  towards  Christ  by  being  patient  or 
restiff  under  it.  There  is  no  hour  that  does  not  bring 
some  opportunity  and  invitation  to  deny  ourselves  for 
Christ  and  duty  and  eternity.  Oh !  we  are  not,  I  am 
sure  we  cannot  be,  sensible  of  the  moral  meanings  and 
operations  that  mix  up  continually  with  life's  common 
warp  and  woof.  AYe  say  with  St.  Peter,  "Lord,  I  am 
ready  to  go  with  thee  to  prison  and  to  death,"  and  then 
quail  at  the  question  of  a  maiden. 

What  gives  this  truth  greater  importance  is,  that 
these  minor  trials  furnish  a  much  more  effectual  and 
decisive  criterion  of  our  characters  than  seemingly 
greater  occasions.  This  is  because  the  heart  acts  under 
them  more  promptly,  spontaneously  and  freely,  and  is 
less  liable  to  be  swayed  unconsciously  by  secondary 
considerations  acting  in  the  same  line  with  the  claims 
of  duty,  and  by  their  success  blinding  us  to  our  de- 
ficiency in  a  really  dutiful  spirit.  Mr.  Melvill,  com- 
menting on  our  Lord's  sending  his  disciples  into  the 
city,  to  find  the  place  appointed  by  him  for  keeping 
the  passover,  by  following  a  man  whom  they  should 
meet  bearing  a  pitcher  of  water,  says  very  happily  and 
forcibly,  "The  apparent  meanness  of  an  employment 
will  often  try  faith  more  than  its  apparent  difficulty ; 
the  exposure  to^  ridicule  and  contempt  will  require 
greater  moral  nerve  than  the  exposure  to  danger  and 
death.  How  should  it  be  otherwise  when  genuine  hu- 
mility is  among  the  hardest  things  to  acquire  and  main- 
tain ;  and  when,  consequently,  whatsoever  goes  directly 
to  the  mortifying  pride  will  more  touch  men  to  the 
quick,  than  any  amount  of  effort,  or  of  sacrifice,  round 


270  SERMON  XXIII. 

which,  it  may  be,  is  thrown  something  of  a  lofty  or  chi- 
valrous aspect?  Oh !  do  not  tell  us  of  great  faith  as  re- 
quired only  for  the  following  Christ  bearing  his  cross 
— there  was  great  faith  required  also  for  the  following 
the  man  bearing  the  pitcher  of  water.  Tell  us  not 
of  its  being  a  hard  task  to  go  in  unto  Pharaoh  and 
say,  '  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  Let  my  people  go,'  it  was 
a  hard  task  also  to  go  in  unto  the  stranger  and  say, 
'Thus  saith  the  Master,  Where  is  the  guest-chamber? ' 
We  believe  that  it  is  very  frequently  ordered  that  faith 
should  be  disciplined  and  nurtured  for  its  hardest  endu- 
rances, and  its  highest  achievements,  through  exposure 
to  petty  inconveniences,  collisions  with  mere  rudeness, 
the  obloquy  of  the  proud,  the  sneer  of  the  supercihous, 
and  the  incivility  of  the  ignorant.  Men  have  looked 
wonderingly,  as  some  unflinching  confessor,  some  can- 
didate for  the  bloody  crown  of  martyrdom,  has  stepped 
forth  from  ranks  which  had  only  simple  duties  to  per- 
form and  common  trials  to  face,  and  displayed  a  con- 
stancy, and  a  courage,  surpassing  those  exhibited  by 
Christians  trained  in  higher  schools  of  experience.  But 
they  have  forgotten,  or  they  have  not  known,  that  no 
where  is  faith  so  well  disciplined  as  in  humble  occupa- 
tions, that  it  grows  great  through  little  tasks,  and  may 
be  more  exercised  by  being  kept  to  the  menial  business 
of  a  servant,  than  by  being  summoned  to  the  lofty  stand- 
ing of  a  leader.  They  have  forgotten,  or  they  have 
not  known,  that  the  uncourteous  repulses,  the  ungracious 
slights,  the  contemptuous  insults,  to  which  a  Christian 
may  be  exposed  in  acting  out  his  Christianity  in  every 
day  life,  and  amidst  the  most  common-place  circum- 


THE  DAILY  CROSS.  271 

Stances,  put  his  principles  to  severe  proof,  or  keep  them 
in  full  work  ;  and  that  the  very  fact  of  his  having  moved 
in  so  humble  a  sphere,  and  been  plied  with  trials  so 
unostentatious  and  petty,  has  had  the  direct  tendency 
to  harden  him  for  conflict,  ay,  though  it  might  be  'with 
principalities  and  powers.'" 

We  see  then,  that  the  great  means  of  the  Christian 
man's  probation  and  discipline  is  his  daily  cross,  not 
the  few  great  trials  that  befall  him  at  distant  intervals, 
but  the  tasks  and  vexations  that  are  incident  to  his 
daily  walk,  his  ordinary  circumstances,  relations  and 
employments.  We  may  never  in  all  our  lives  be  called 
to  any  enormous  effort  or  crushing  endurance,  but  may 
keep  the  even  tenor  of  our  w^ay  through  only  moderate 
labours,  and  sorrows  "such  as  are  common  unto  men  ;" 
and  yet  our  principles  be  subjected  to  a  continual  strain', 
by  which  their  quality  and  strength  are  sufficiently 
and  effectually  tested.  There  shall  be  no  day  of  all 
that  gentle  and  uniform  course,  which  shall  not  furnish 
abundant  occasions  to  try  our  temper  and  our  fortitude 
and  our  resolution  and  our  faith,  in  which  we  shall 
not  be  brought  to  combat  with  *' temptation  without 
and  corruptions  within,"  in  which  there  shall  not  be 
numerous  conflicts  between  ''the  law  of  our  members" 
and  "the  law  of  our  mind,"  between  "the  flesh"  and 
"the  Spirit,"  between  conscience  and  the  will  of  God, 
and  our  own  indolence  and  pride  and  timidity  and 
squeamishness  and  irritability,  our  love  of  ease  or  of 
pleasure;  and  the  mastery  of  the  one  or  of  the  other 
creates  a  daily  balance  in  favour  of  duty  or  selfishness, 
obedience  or  sin.     And  many  a  man  fails  in  these  fa- 


272  SERMON  XXIII. 

miliar  instances,  who  would  do  bravely  in  some  juncture 
that  should  summon  him  to  stupendous  exertion  or  in- 
tense suffering.  At  such  a  time  many  inferior  motives 
might  come  to  the  aid  of  his  feeble  principle,  and  bear 
it  through  in  triumph;  while,  in  more  common  cases,  he 
succumbs  without  a  struggle,  and  is  scarcely  aware  that 
any  trial  of  principle  is  involved  in  the  contest.  Many 
a  man  w^ould  make  a  martyr,  who  is  not  a  very  exem- 
plary or  faithful  Christian.  But  then,  since  principle 
does  not  sustain  him  on  common  occasions,  who  can 
say  that  it  is  not  something  else  than  principle  that 
would  support  him  in  the  fiercer  trial — pride,  fanati- 
cism, natural  hardihood,  or  the  love  of  posthumous  glory  ? 
The  very  fact  that  ordinary  circumstances  do  not  call 
a  man  to  think  of  his  principles,  but  to  use  them,  goes 
far  to  show  their  reality  when  they  prove  sufficient ; 
for  where  the  importance  of  the  occasion  is  such  as  to 
set  him  thinking  upon  it,  it  is  not  improbable  that  the 
pride  of  place  and  consistency  may  maintain  him  in  a 
brave  conformity  to  a  principle,  which  is  proper  to  his 
position  or  profession,  but  little  familiar  to  his  heart. 
There  is  many  a  man  that  would  repel  a  Sanballat's 
treachery  with  a  Nehemiah's — "  Should  such  a  man  as  I 
flee?"  who  would  yet  be  utterly  incapable  of  a  Nehe- 
miah's  habitual  trials  and  sacrifices. 

It  is  worthy  of  particular  notice,  that  this  daily  cross 
is  strictly  an  individual  thing,  and  varies  with  the  dis- 
position and  circumstances  of  those  to  whom  it  per- 
tains. Every  man  has  his  own  cross,  wdiich  he  can  no 
more  get  rid  of  or  exchange  with  another  than  he  can 
his  own  identity.     ''The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitter- 


THE  DAILY  CROSS.  273 

ness."  This  cross,  in  every  instance,  consists  of  that 
peculiar  difficulty  which  any  person  experiences  in  doing 
and  bearing  the  will  of  God ;  and  how  various  that  is, 
any  one  may  know,  who  will  reflect  upon  the  infinite 
variety  of  men's  constitutions  and  conditions.  Thus, 
what  is  a  cross  to  one  man  is  no  cross  to  another;  be- 
cause, from  a  difference  of  tastes  and  habits,  it  may  be 
no  hardship  to  him  to  bear  or  to  do  it.  Not  unfre- 
quently,  a  man's  cross  for  the  most  part  lies  in  some- 
thing which  is  invisible  to  all  but  himself,  or  which  if 
seen  by  others  is  not  understood  by  them  to  be  his  cross, 
because  it  would  not  be  a  cross  to  them.  It  may  be, 
that  I  am  by  my  peculiar  circumstances  perpetually 
called  to  some  course  of  action;  which,  to  a  person  of 
my  particular  temperament,  is  excessively  disagreeable. 
But  others,  who  are  not  similarly  constituted,  may  not 
so  much  as  imagine  how  much  my  duty  costs  me.  I 
suppose,  indeed,  that  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  for  a 
man's  cross  to  consist  in  something  which  nobody  but 
himself  supposes  to  be  any  part  of  his  cross  at  all.  It 
may  be  a  very  minute  matter  indeed,  which  is  a  man's 
"thorn  in  the  flesh"  all  his  days.  The  bigness  of  a 
thing  does  not  determine  its  painfulness.  A  very 
little  brier  in  the  flesh  may  be  the  cause  of  long  and 
cruel  irritation.  An  irritable  man  is  tried  with  temp- 
tations to  anger,  a  sensual  man  with  provocations  of 
appetite,  a  proud  man  with  incentives  to  pride.  A 
man's  associates,  the  men  with  whom  he  is  continually 
brought  into  contact  in  intercourse  and  business,  are 
usually  to  no  small  extent  sources  of  trial  to  him. 
There  is  not  seldom  in  that  circle  which  bounds  a  man's 
24 


274  SERMON  XXIII. 

sphere  of  duty,  some  coarse  or  wayward  or  jealous  dis- 
position, which  is  an  incessant  source  of  annoyance  to 
him  in  his  unavoidable  collisions  with  it.  We  have  not 
told  the  half.  Each  of  you  might  furnish  instances 
out  of  the  treasures  of  his  own  experience.  There  is 
some  place  in  every  man's  case  which  is  habitually 
tender,  and  some  object  near  him  against  which  it 
frequently  impinges ;  and  to  bear  his  pain  patiently, 
and  in  spite  of  it  do  his  duty  resolutely  in  the  spirit  of 
a  Christian  disciple,  is  to  take  up  his  cross  daily  and 
follow  Christ. 

My  Christian  brethren,  I  fear  you  may  not  under, 
stand  aright  this  matter  of  taking  up  the  cross.  I 
trust  you  now  perceive  that  is  a  daily  duty,  a  duty 
to  which  no  day  fails  to  furnish  an  occasion,  and  utter  a 
summons.  It  consists  simply  in  bearing  inevitable  evils 
patiently,  and  doing  unpleasant  duties  faithfully,  out  of 
faith  in  the  Lord's  wisdom,  and  obedience  to  his  will. 
It  is  opposed  to  that  indolence  and  fretfulness  in  which 
we  are  so  apt  to  indulge,  that  readiness  to  invent  ex- 
cuses for  the  neglect  of  disagreeable  duties,  or  discover 
reasons  for  postponing  them,  that  unwillingness  to  prac- 
tise self-denial,  or  put  forth  adequate  exertions  for  the 
relief  of  human  distress,  the  welfare  of  souls,  or  the 
prosperity  of  the  church,  that  impatience  under  the  ap- 
pointments of  providence,  that  discontent,  desponden- 
cy, peevishness,  anxiety  and  restlessness,  in  fine,  that 
reluctance  to  do  and  suffer  the  will  of  God  concerning 
us,  which  so  little  agrees  with  the  spirit  of  filial  trust 
and  obedience. 

Let  it  be  impressed  upon  you,  then,  that  what  the 


THE  DAILY  CROSS.  275 

gospel  requires  of  you,  is  not  to  take  up  the  cross  now 
and  then,  when  some  huge  task  or  mighty  calamity 
falls  upon  you,  tasks  and  calamities  which  you  may 
perhaps  hope  to  escape  altogether,  and  thus  to  get  off 
with  only  a  theoretical  taking  up  of  the  cross,  but  to 
take  up  your  cross  daily,  a  cross  which  daily  offers 
itself  to  you  to  be  taken  up,  by  the  patient  perform- 
ance of  the  labours  and  meek  endurance  of  the  burdens 
of  your  station,  labours  and  burdens  irksome  and  pain- 
ful in  themselves  to  a  wide  extent,  which  yet  the  love 
of  Christ  and  the  hope  of  heaven  can  lighten  and 
sweeten.  Work  and  endure  while  the  day  lasts. 
Soon  the  toil  and  conflict  shall  be  over ;  and  then,  blessed 
thought!  "they  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst 
any  more,  neither  shall  the  sun  light  on  them  nor  any 
heat,  but  the  Lamb  that  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne 
shall  feed  them,  and  lead  them  to  living  fountains  of 
waters,  and  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  off 
their  faces." 


276  SERMON  XXIV. 


SEKMON  XXIY. 

CHRIST'S   PASSION   MONITORY. 

For  if  they  do  these  things  in  a  green  tree,  what  shall  be  done  in 
the  dry? — St.  Luke  xxiii.  31. 

This  strong  and  expressive  metaphor  gains  addi- 
tional force  from  the  circumstances  under  which  it  was 
uttered.  In  the  light  of  these  circumstances  its  mean- 
ing is  plain.  But  while  they  serve  to  illustrate  its 
sense,  and  strengthen  its  effect,  they  by  no  means 
limit  its  application,  or  circumscribe  its  utility.  To  us 
it  speaks  as  truly  and  as  significantly  as  it  did  to  those 
who  heard  it  from  the  lips  of  Jesus.  The  things  re- 
ferred to  in  the  text  were  inflictions  of  shame  and  dis- 
tress, penal  sufferings  of  the  most  aggravated  and  igno- 
minious description  bestowed  as  the  penalty  of  guilt 
on  One  who  therein  was  dealt  w^ith  as  a  criminal  and 
malefactor,  a  penalty,  which,  as  though  it  were  not 
enough  to  extinguish  life,  and  destroy  forever  whatever 
of  happiness  or  hope  might  accompany  its  possession, 
seemed  devised  for  the  very  purpose  of  making  death 
in  a  high  degree  painful  and  horrible,  awful  far  beyond 
its  own  intrinsic  and  invariable  dreadfulness. 

And  these  things  were  being  done,  to  adopt  the 
figure  of  the  text,  in  a  green  tree.  A  tree  in  all  its 
verdure  and  vigour  and  beauty,  untried  by  disease, 
with  its  life  perfect  in  it,  impaired  by  no  previous  de- 


CHRIST'S  PASSION  MONITORY.  277 

cay  or  violence,  which  had  not  fallen  before  the  axe 
of  the  feller,  the  blast  of  the  elements,  or  the  flight  of 
years,  in  the  midst  of  its  growth,  with  its  leaves  fresh 
upon  it,  and  the  moist  sap  running  freely  in  its  stock 
and  pervading  its  limbs,  was  withering  and  consuming 
in  a  flame  so  fierce  as  to  be  utterly  irresistible.  Its  na- 
tural inaptitude  to  burn  afforded  it  no  protection.  The 
fire  was  devouring  it  like  stubble.  A  dry  tree  is  fit 
fuel.  Its  life  extinct  and  its  moisture  exhaled,  it  waits 
only  the  application  of  the  brand,  to  yield  itself  a 
suitable  and  ready  victim.  It  is  the  proper  prey  of 
fire,  invites  it,  as  it  were,  offers  itself  to  its  approaches, 
and  bears  its  own  sentence  and  doom  upon  its  front. 
When  the  conflagration  for  which  it  has  been  waiting 
seizes  it,  no  feeling  of  injustice  or  incongruity  or  sym- 
pathy or  regret  is  awakened  in  the  beholder.  Its  fate 
excites  no  grief;  and  the  attention  which  it  receives 
is  called  forth  not  by  the  strangeness,  but  by  the  splen- 
dour, of  the  spectacle.  The  mind  acquiesces  in  it  as 
an  appropriate  and  not  undesirable  event,  a  fit  and 
welcome  riddance  of  an  unsightly,  useless,  perhaps 
threatening,  incumbrance.  I  entertain  a  feeling  nearly 
akin  to  respect  and  affection  for  trees.  The  aspect  of 
a  familiar  tree  is  as  the  face  of  an  old  friend.  An 
aged  tree,  whose  story  is  known,  standing  a  monument 
and  survivor  of  generations  that  have  lived  and  passed 
away  from  beneath  its  shadow,  fresh  and  firm  after  the 
hands  of  them  who  planted  it  and  rejoiced  in  it,  and 
their  children,  and  their  children's  children,  have  va- 
nished from  the  places  that  knew  them,  is  full  of  histo- 
rical and  poetic  interest;  and  he  who  can  look  upon  it 

24* 


278  SERMON  XXIV. 

without  some  stirring  of  thought  and  feeling  in  refer- 
ence to  it,  as  the  dumb  chronicler  of  scenes  and  changes 
which  it  has  witnessed  and  outlived  and  only  wants  a 
tongue  to  relate,  must  have  a  soul  singularly  barren 
and  unsusceptible.  I  never  see  a  living  tree  cut  down 
without  a  feeling  that  strongly  resembles  compassion 
and  resentment.  My  sense  of  right  and  propriety  is 
at  least  gently  stirred.  And  I  cannot  but  think,  that 
all  but  sordid  minds,  your  men  of  mere  dollars  and 
cents,  mere  incarnations  of  money,  will  recognise  and 
respect  the  feeling.  If  such  a  tree  were  to  become 
the  prey  of  fire,  it  would  seem  to  be  a  sacrifice.  As 
leaf  and  twig  shrivels,  bough  after  bough  disappears, 
and  at  last  the  huge  trunk  bends  crackling  and  glow- 
ing to  the  earth,  it  likens  itself  to  a  giant  burnt-ofi'er- 
ing  to  the  demon  of  destruction,  exulting  in  his  victory 
over  its  beauty  and  strength.  But  a  dry  tree  who 
cares  for?  We  may  be  sorry  that  it  died.  But  since 
it  is  dead,  the  axe  and  the  flame  are  welcome  to  their 
victim.  They  do  a  befitting  and  useful  work,  in  re- 
moving an  object  which  no  longer  can  afford  pleasure 
or  advantage,  productive  neither  of  fruit  nor  shade, 
only  cumbering  space  with  deformity  and  decay.  Now, 
I  suppose  that  some  such  ideas  lie  at  the  bottom  of  the 
figure  in  the  text.  If  the  green  tree,  not  apt  to  burn, 
nor  deserving  the  doom  of  fire,  is  nevertheless  devoted 
to  the  flame,  how  shall  the  dry  tree,  inflammable,  and 
waiting  only  the  spark  to  kindle  it,  meet  moreover  for 
no  better  fate,  hope  to  escape  a  conflagration  more 
violent,  rapid  and  thorough  ? 

Our  Lord  uttered  the  words  before  us  while  he  was 


CHRIST'S  PASSION  MONITORY.  279 

going  from  the  judgment  hall  of  Pilate  to  the  place 
of  crucifixion.  Thej  rank  therefore  among  his  dying 
words ;  for  from  the  moment  when  in  the  garden  of 
Gethsemane  he  meekly  resigned  himself  to  the  fate 
which  his  Father  had  appointed  for  him,  he  may  be 
considered  as  having  begun  to  die.  He  had  given  him- 
self up  into  the  hands  of  the  destroyer,  and  was  quietly 
undergoing  the  accomplishment  of  his  work.  All  that 
follows  is  a  death  scene ;  and  all  that  was  said  in  it  has 
the  peculiar  sacredness  and  interest  that  pertain  to  the 
sayings  of  a  dying  man,  especially,  of  a  martyr  and  a 
Redeemer.  St.  Luke  tells  us  that,  "  there  followed  him 
a  great  company  of  people,  and  of  women,  which  also 
bewailed  and  lamented  him.  But  Jesus  turning  unto 
them,  said.  Daughters  of  Jerusalem,  weep  not  for  me, 
but  weep  for  yourselves  and  for  your  children."  Then, 
after  predicting  the  approach  of  calamities  so  severe 
that  mothers  would  be  moved,  at  the  sight  of  their  chil- 
dren's miseries,  and  by  the  consequent  augmentation  of 
their  own,  to  envy  and  congratulate  the  childless,  he 
adds,  "  Then  shall  they  begin  to  say  to  the  mountains. 
Fall  on  us!  and  to  the  hills.  Cover  us."  There  is  here 
evident  reference  to  the  words  of  Hosea — *  "And  they 
shall  say  to  the  mountains.  Cover  us !  and  to  the  hills, 
Fallon  us!" — spoken  originally  in  view  of  the  dis- 
tress that  would  accompany  the  Assyrian  invasion. 
The  same  figure  is  borrowed  by  St.  John  in  the  Apo- 
calypse to  describe  the  anguish  and  consternation  that 
were  to  follow  the  opening  of  the  sixth  seal :  when,  high 
and  humble  without   distinction,  terror-stricken,  are 

*  Hos.  X.  8. 


280  SERMON  XXIV. 

made  to  *  "hide  themselves  in  the  dens  and  in  the  rocks 
of  the  mountains,  and  saj  to  the  mountains  and  rocks, 
Fall  on  us,  and  hide  us  from  the  face  of  Him  that 
sitteth  on  the  throne,  and  from  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb  !'* 
The  representation  in  all  the  cases  is  evidently  intend- 
ed to  depict  an  occasion  of  extreme  desperation  and 
insufferable  horror,  such  as  only  attend  some  peculiarly 
clear  and  impressive  display  of  God's  wrath  against 
sin.  As  employed  by  our  Lord,  it  undoubtedly  points 
to  the  horrors  of  the  Roman  conquest,  which  he  had  be- 
fore foretold  in  language  of  similar  intensity :  f  "  There 
shall  be  great  tribulation,  such  as  was  not  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  world  to  this  time,  no,  nor  ever  shall 
be," — a  description  which  the  history  of  that  awful 
catastrophe  most  perfectly  justifies  and  fulfils.  Then 
he  subjoins  the  remark  which  furnishes  the  text, — 
"For  if  they  do  these  things  in  a  green  tree,  what 
shall  be  done  in  the  dry" — in  which  his  own  intense 
suff*erings,  then  being  endured,  are  made  the  pledge 
of  those  dreadful  calamities  which  should  ere  long 
overtake  his  nation. 

In  his  passion  God's  displeasure  at  sin  was  displayed, 
its  fearfulness  made  known.  Yet  he  was,  in  character, 
sinless;  in  nature,  divine.  His  sufferings  were  without 
desert.  In  his  person  moreover  human  nature  was  spe- 
cially ennobled, — exalted  into  a  tabernacle  of  divinity 
— taken  into  such  a  close  and  intimate  alliance  with  the 
Godhead,  and  thus,  so  deified  as  it  were,  that  it  would 
seem  to  have  been  entitled  to  an  exemption  from  the 
common  ills  and  ordinary  fate  of  flesh,  and  to  stand 
*  Rev.  vi.  IG.  f  Matt.  xxir.  21. 


CHRIST'S  PASSION  MONITORY.  281 

upon  an   eminence  that  would  effectually  secure  it 
against  the  assaults  of  evil.     Pain  is  the  penalty  of 
sin;  but  he  had  done  no  sin,  was  "holy,  harmless,  un- 
defiled,  separate  from  sinners ;  "  and  therefore  he  might 
seem  to  be  safe  also  from  the  pains  of  sinners.     He 
was  '-God  manifest  in  the  flesh,"  "the  Son  of  man  in 
heaven"  even  while  he  dwelt  and  walked  on  earth,  a 
heavenly  and  divine  visitant,  veiled  in  an  adopted  hu- 
manity just  for  the  purpose  of  intercourse  with  earthly 
beings  and  performing  an  earthly  work.     God  cannot 
suffer.     A  heavenly  being  has  no  liability  to   pain. 
We  should  be  apt  to  surmise ;  that,  as  a  nature  celestial, 
above  all,  divine,  would  remain  impassible  during  any 
temporary  sojourn  it  might  make   among  terrestrial 
scenes  and  beings,  even  if,  for  the  fulfilment  of  some 
mission  of  wisdom  or  mercy,  it  had  assumed  their  nature 
into  union  with  itself,  it  would  be  more  likely  to  com- 
municate its  own  immunity  from  harm  to  the  flesh  it 
dignified  with  its  presence,  than  to  draw  upon  the  per- 
son which  a  union  so  mysterious  might  produce,  the 
liability  to  suffer  which  pertained  only  to  its  inferior 
and  more  yielding  element.     The  suffering  of  Christ 
was  a  great  incongruity.     Never  did  pain  fasten  on 
so  unmeet  an  object.     Never  was  misery  so  strangely 
associated,  so  improperly  lodged,  guest  in  so  unsuitable 
a  mansion.     Yet  he  did  suffer,  was  suffering  when  he 
spake,  had  been  suffering  in  degree  ever  since  he  was 
"made  in  the  likeness  of  man,"  through  all  the  thirty- 
three  years  of  his  earthly  sojourn,  was   now  in  the 
midst  of  a  process  of  suffering  extreme  in  its  character, 


282  BERMON  XXIV. 

deadly  in  its  issue,  about  to  ''pour  out  his  soul  unto 
death,"  amidst  the  agony  and  torture  of  the  cross. 

The  fire  had  seized  upon  a  green  tree,  and  in  all  its 
strength  and  beauty,  its  moisture  and  freshness,  was 
wasting  it  with  a  strange  and  unnatural  destruction. 
The  wrath  of  God  against  sin,  strangely  had  fastened 
on  the  only  man  that  was  not  a  sinner;  and  the  indig- 
nation of  Him,  who  to  sin  alone  is  a  "  consuming 
fire,"  was  marvellously  devouring  that  one  thing  which, 
alone  of  all  things  on  earth,  was  perfectly  free  from 
that  against  which  its  fury  was  excited.  But  the  green 
tree  was  standing,  the  only  green  tree  in  all  the 
forest,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  dry  trees,  sapless, 
leafless,  lifeless,  'Hwice  dead,  plucked  up  by  the  roots," 
fit  for  the  fire,  and  ready  to  yield  themselves  to  its 
destructive  attacks  so  soon  as  it  should  approach 
them.  They  were  candidates  for  burning,  good  for 
nothing  but  fuel,  "nigh  unto  destruction,  whose  end 
was  to  be  burned" — an  end  altogether  natural,  con- 
gruous, justifiable.  When  the  green  tree  was  burning, 
should  not  the  dry  tree  be  admonished  of  its  peril? 
Should  it  not  see  a  foretokening  of  its  own  fate,  a  fate 
so  much  more  probable,  more  becoming,  more  merited? 
The  Jewish  nation  was  a  "vessel  of  wrath  fitted  for 
destruction,"  without  moral  or  physical  preparation 
to  resist  the  fury  of  the  divine  anger.  Their  iniquity 
was  well  nigh  full.  They  were  rapidly  "filling  up  the 
measure  of  their  fathers."  If  any  thing  were  wanting 
to  consummate  their  guilt,  it  was  furnished  in  their 
crucifying  the  Lord  of  life  and  glory,  and  imprecating 
his  blood  upon  themselves  and  their  children.     They 


CHRIST'S  PASSION  MONITORY.  283 

were  puffed  up  with  a  sense  of  spiritual  exaltation  as 
the  favoured  people ;  but  they  were  but  men,  perish- 
able "  as  the  flower,  which  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow 
is  cast  into  the  oven."  Soon  the  "wrath  of  God  came 
upon  them  to  the  uttermost,"  and  "devoured  them  as 
stubble  fully  dry."  Never  did  a  people  experience  a 
more  complete  and  signal  destruction,  rapid,  fierce  and 
thorough.  The  things  that  were  done  in  the  green 
tree  were  thus  in  due  time  done  in  the  dry.  For  cen- 
turies nothing  has  remained  of  it  but  a  few  scathed 
boughs  and  blackened  fragments  strewed  abroad  and 
trampled  under  foot,  to  attest  that  once  it  was,  and 
was  most  justly  and  awfully  consumed. 

That  we  may  turn  these  facts  to  practical  account, 
it  is  needful  that  we  notice  two  things. 

The  first  is,  God's  treatment  of  the  Jews  is  a  token 
of  his  displeasure  against  sin  generally,  and  his  determi- 
nation to  punish  it  in  men  with  an  awful  severity.  The 
particular  temporal  judgments  of  God  are  preludes  of 
his  general,  final,  eternal  judgment.  If  his  wrath  can 
burn  so  fiercely  and  so  destructively  on  earth,  how  fear- 
fully will  it  rage  in  the  day  of  the  revelation  of  his 
righteous  judgment?  It  is  a  suppressed  and  bridled 
wrath  now;  what  will  it  be  when  it  will  operate  with- 
out mitigation  or  restraint?  He  does  "not  suffer  his 
whole  displeasure  to  arise;"  and  yet,  oftentimes,  how 
terrible  are  its  manifestations !  God's  hatred  of  sin  is 
steady,  intense,  eternal.  The  plagues  he  inflicts  on 
guilty  nations  and  individuals  are  but  scintillations  on 
its  heat,  short  and  attempered  explosions  of  its  violence. 
"It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living 


284  SERMON  XXIV. 

God."  "Great  plagues  remain  for  the  ungodly."  "For 
a  fire  is  kindled  in  his  anger  that  shall  burn  to  the 
lowest  hell." 

The  second  is,  that  Christ  affords  protection  from 
the  wrath  of  God  to  those  only,  who,  by  compliance 
with  appointed  terms,  secure  to  themselves  the  benefits 
of  his  atonement.  We  are  engaged  in  looking  at  the 
sufferings  of  Christ  as  monitory;  it  is  more  common 
and  more  agreeable  to  regard  them  as  propitiatory,  as 
endured  to  procure  for  sinners  the  means  and  oppor- 
tunity of  pardon.  This  was,  no  doubt,  their  direct  aim 
and  operation.  The  minds  of  men  are  so  enamoured 
of  this  view,  that  they  are  apt  to  let  it  engross  the 
whole  field  of  vision.  But  there  are  other  things  in 
the  field,  and  we  do  well  to  look  at  them.  There  are 
conditions  as  well  as  provisions.  He  saves  the  peni- 
tent; but  "except  ye  repent,  ye  shall  all  likewise 
perish."  He  "saves  to  the  uttermost  all  that  come 
unto  God  by  him;"  but  if  "they  will  not  come  unto 
him  that  they  may  have  life,"  they  "shall  die  in  their 
sins;"  and  then,  "where  he  is  they  cannot  come." 
All  such  as  will  not  believe  on  him  and  obey  him  are 
left  as  utterly  without  defence  from  "the  wrath  of 
God  revealed  from  heaven  against  all  ungodliness  and 
unrighteousness  of  men,"  as  though  he  had  never  died; 
and  are  "  condemned  already,  because  they  have  not 
believed  on  the  name  of  the  only-begotten  Son  of  God." 

The  subject  thus  unfolded  becomes  to  us  a  lesson  of 
patience,  of  prudence,  and  of  hope. 

The  Son  of  God  on  earth  was  "a  man  of  sorrows 
and  acquainted  with  grief."     His  life  was  marked  by 


Christ's  passion  monitory.  285 

suffering  in  all  its  stages.  His  death  was  accomplished 
amidst  an  accumulation  of  miseries, — imbittered  with 
desolation,  disgrace  and  torment.  These  things  were 
done  in  the  green  tree.  He  had  no  meetness  for  such 
sufferings ;  there  was  no  natural  propriety  in  their  in- 
fliction upon  him,  no  demerit  that  rendered  them  the 
just  reward  of  his  deeds.  Yet  "it  pleased  the  Lord 
to  bruise  him."  What  then  shall  be  done  in  the  dry? 
Suffering  has  a  most  melancholy  congruity  to  our  case. 
We  have  no  claim  to  anything  better,  deserve  nothing 
else.  We  are  sinners.  We  have^  forfeited  all  good. 
Evil  is  all  the  inheritance  that  is  left  to  us.  We  could 
have  no  right  to  complain,  if  all  our  days  were  con- 
sumed in  sorrows;  for  "why  should  a  living  man  com- 
plain, a  man  for  the  punishment  of  his  sins?"  Yet  we 
are  spared,  favoured,  blessed,  oh  how  richly !  We 
cannot  say  that  we  "have  not  where  to  lay  our  heads." 
We  have  homes,  and  they  are  homes  of  plenty  and 
comfort,  in  many  cases,  of  luxury  and  elegance.  "  Our 
cup  runneth  over."  And  in  addition  to  all  our  tem- 
poral comforts,  we  have  the  knowledge  of  the  truth, 
"  the  means  of  grace,  and  the  hope  of  glory."  Yet 
how  we  murmur  over  our  wants,  our  inconveniences? 
our  vexations,  our  trials  !  Oh  !  ye  that  deserve  much 
suffering  and  endure  little,  think  of  Him  who  endured 
much  and  deserved  none,  lay  your  hand  upon  your 
mouths,  and  be  still. 

Again,  think  how  dangerous  it  must  be  to  brave  the 
anger  of  the  long-suffering  God.     "Who  can  stand 
before  his  indignation?  and  who  can  abide  in  the  fierce- 
ness of  his  anger  ?     His  fury  is  poured  out  like  fire, 
25 


286  SERMON  XXIV. 

and  the  rocks  are  thrown  down  by  him."  God's 
enmity  to  sin  is  seen  in  the  severity  with  which  he 
treated  even  his  own  Son,  when  that  Son  voluntarily 
placed  himself  in  the  position  of  a  sinner,  and  under- 
went the  usage  of  a  sinner.  And  will  he  deal  more 
mildly  with  those  who  are  sinners  really?  above  all, 
with  those  who  are  sinners  obstinately,  and  would  not 
be  pardoned  and  reclaimed  ?  Christ  suffered  that  you 
might  not  suffer.  There  is  protection  in  his  blood. 
The  destroying  angel  passes  over  the  lintel  on  which 
that  blood  is  sprinkled.  But  there  is  no  protection 
without  him;  nay,  augmented  exposure,  augmented 
peril.  *' Behold  then  the  goodness  and  the  severity 
of  God;"  goodness  in  Christ,  severity  out  of  Christ. 
Take  warning  not  to  brave  God's  anger.  You  shrink 
under  its  gentle  touches  now.  It  will  be  sharper  here- 
after. "If  thou  hast  run  with  the  footmen,  and  they 
have  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  contend  with 
horses  ?  and  if  in  the  land  of  peace,  wherein  thou 
trustedst,  they  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  do  in 
the  swelling  of  Jordan?  " 

Finally,  there  is  opened  to  us  by  the  sufferings  of 
Christ  a  door  of  hope  and  salvation.  These  things 
were  done  in  the  green  tree,  not  arbitrarily  nor  wantonly, 
but  in  w^isdom  and  love.  The  green  tree  consented  to 
burn  that  the  dry  tree  might  escape,  nay,  more  than 
that,  that,  by  the  wonderful  efficacy  of  this  destruction, 
it  might  become  again  green,  lively  and  flourishing. 
These  things  shall  not  be  done  in  the  dry  tree,  if  what 
was  done  in  the  green  tree  is  graciously  accepted  in 
lieu  of  them.     It  was  done  that  it  might  be.     But 


CHRIST  S  PASSION  MONITORY.  287 

here  our  'metaphor  fails  us.  It  is  the  case  of  living, 
rational,  voluntary  creatures  which  we  are  contem- 
plating. We  have  the  fullest  assurance  that  God  will 
pardon,  sanctify  and  save  us,  if  we  believe  in  his  Son 
Jesus  Christ,  and  serve  him  with  true  and  faithful 
hearts.  "For  if  God  spared  not  his  own  Son,  but  de- 
livered him  up  for  us  all,  how  shall  he  not  with  him  also 
freely  give  us  all  things?  "  If  we  are  destroyed  at  all, 
my  brethren,  we  are  self-destroyed.  God  willeth  not  our 
death.  His  Son  dying  on  the  cross  declares  his  bound- 
less compassion  and  mercy  towards  us.  *' Behold!" 
says  he,  "I  stand  at  the  door,  and  knock:  if  any  man 
hear  my  voice,  and  open  the  door,  I  will  come  in  to  him, 
and  will  sup  with  him,  and  he  with  me." 


288  SERMON  XXV. 


SEEMON   XXV. 

CHRIST'S    HEAVENLY    LIFE. 
He  shall  live. — Psalm  lxxii.  15. 

This  whole  Psalm  unquestionably  has  reference  to 
Christ;  for  there  is  no  other  to  whom  its  statements 
and  descriptions  can  be  fairly  applied.  The  prediction 
before  us  evidently  relates  to  that  life  of  his  which  he 
gained  by  his  resurrection  from  the  dead ;  for,  in  the 
verses  that  follow,  it  is  described  as  ceaseless  and  eter- 
nal, free  from  all  exposure  to  interruption,  decay  and 
mortality.  His  resurrection  from  the  dead  was  his  in- 
duction into  this  new  and  more  glorious  form  of  life. 
This  he  first  attained,  when  he  "loosed  the  pains  of 
death,  because  it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  be  holden 
of  it."  For,  "  Christ  being  raised  from  the  dead,  dieth 
no  more ;  death  hath  no  more  dominion  over  him.  For 
in  that  he  died,  he  died  unto  sin  once :  but  in  that  he 
liveth,  he  liveth  unto  God."  This  was  a  life  such  as  he 
had  not  known  before,  difi'erent  alike  from  the  life  that 
he  had  lived  in  the  flesh,  and  from  that  glory  which 
he  had  with  his  Father  before  he  was  made  man ;  more 
glorious  than  the  former, — we  dare  not  say,  more  glo- 
rious than  the  latter,  for  that  were  to  insinuate  that  a 
bliss  properly  divine  is  capable  of  augmentation,  or  to 
undeify  its    subject, — but  we  may  say  intelligently, 


CHRIST  S  HEAVENLY  LIFE.  289 

nay,  we  must  say,  possessed  of  some  new  and  peculiar 
elements  of  glory,  which  did  not  and  could  not  enter 
into  the  first  glory  which  he  had,  and  relinquished. 
It  was  a  life  of  glorification,  altogether  novel  to  his 
human  part,  which  before  had  known  nothing  but  weak- 
ness and  humiliation,  and,  in  important  respects,  also 
novel  to  the  divine,  which  it  invested  with  new  re- 
lations, new  functions  and  new  dignities.  To  the  com- 
pound person  Immanuel,  "the  Word  made  flesh,"  it 
was  a  great  and  important  advance  of  honour,  brightly 
indeed  contrasting  with  that  condition  out  of  which  he 
had  emerged — a  state  of  poverty,  meanness,  disgrace 
and  suff'ering  issuing  in  a  state  of  power,  happiness, 
splendour  and  inconceivable  exaltation.  *'  God  highly 
exalted  him,  and  gave  him  a  name  which  is  above  every 
name,  that  at  the  name  of  Jesus  every  knee  should 
bow,  of  things  in  heaven,  and  things  in  earth,  and 
things  under  the  earth,  and  that  every  tongue  should 
confess  that  Jesus  Christ  is  Lord  to  the  glory  of  God 
the  Father."  "When  he  had  by  himself  purged  our 
sins,  he  sat  down  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on 
high;  being  made  so  much  better  than  the  angels  as 
he  hath  by  inheritance  obtained  a  more  excellent  name 
than  they."  To  this  life  Isaiah  refers,  when,  in  lan- 
guage parallel  to  the  text,  he  prophesies,  that  when 
God  hath  made  "his  soul  an  offering  for  sin,  he  shall 
see  his  seed,  he  shall  prolong  his  days,  and  the  plea- 
sure of  the  Lord  shall  prosper  in  his  hand;"  and  that 
then,  "he  shall  be  exalted  and  extolled,  and  be  very 
high."  By  the  Prophet  this  is  explicitly  stated  as  the 
sequel,  consequence,  fruit,  reward,  of  his  humiliation 

25* 


290  SERMON  XXV. 

and  death.     The  Psalmist  views  it  nakedly  and  sepa- 
rately, making  the  Messiah's  life  continuous,  dropping 
out  of  view  the  short,  dark  eclipse  which  it  temporarily 
suffered,  essential  indeed  to  the  accomplishment  of  its 
purpose,  fraught  with  the  most  pregnant  benefits  to 
mankind,  needful  to  the   attainment  of   its  ultimate 
magnificence,  but  brief  in  duration,  insignificant  in  the 
comparative  place  which  it  occupies  in  the  whole  his- 
tory, and  joyfully  overlooked  by  one  whose  aim  is  only 
to  portray  Immanuel's  glories,  and  describe  the  final 
benefits  and  honours  of  his  reign.     "He  shall  live." 
Yes,  this  the  Psalmist  declared,  when  he  foresaw  how 
transient  the  victory  of  the  grave  over  him  was  to  be, 
how  little  it  could  do  to  arrest  and  interrupt  the  con- 
tinuity of  his  illustrious  and  beneficent  existence,  how 
indeed  it  would  by  means  of  its  own  temporary  success 
become  subservient  to  his  triumph,  and  be  forced  to 
render  his  immortal  honours  more  manifest  and  com- 
plete.    Its  realization  the  angel  announced  very  sig- 
nificantly to  the  women  who  stood  weeping  at  the  door 
of  his  vacant  sepulchre,  in  the  suggestive  question, 
"Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead?"     He  made 
death  the  instrument  of  attaining  a  higher  and  more  per- 
fect life.     The  grave  was  to  him  the  mere  aurelia,  out 
of  which  the  life  that  was  in  him  was  to  be  evolved 
more  perfectly,  and  emerge  in  a  nobler  form.    When  he 
died  he  bruised  the  serpent's  head,  in  vengeance  for 
the  wound  inflicted  on  his  heel,  which  was  the  utmost 
injury  that  could  be  done  him.    On  the  cross  "  he  spoiled 
principalities  and  powers,  and  made  a  show  of  them 
openly,  triumphing  over  them  in  it."     "  Through  death 


Christ's  heavenly  life.  291 

he  destroyed  him  that  had  the  power  of  death,  that  is, 
the  devil;"  and,  by  asserting  his  superiority  to  its 
power,  successfully  "  abolished  death,  brought  life  and 
immortality  to  light,"  and  proclaimed  his  ability  to  fulfil 
his  promise  to  his  people,  "Because  I  live,  ye  shall  live 
also." 

The  text,  then,  may  be  regarded  as  representing  Christ 
as  living,  living  on  and  forever,  in  defiance  of  death,  in 
triumph  over  it,  and  attaining  to  the  full  development, 
exercise,  and  enjoyment  of  that  high  and  glorious  form 
of  life,  which  forms  his  peculiar  privilege  and  distinction 
by  means  of  that  temporary  subjection  to  death,  through 
which  he  eff"ected  its  complete  discomfiture  and  subju- 
gation. It  thus  presents  us  with  a  very  fruitful  and 
profitable  subject  of  reflection,  altogether  suitable  to 
the  occasion  on  which  we  are  assembled.* 

Let  us  then  look  at  some  of  the  peculiar  and  distinctive 
features  of  that  life,  which  the  Redeemer  attained  after 
death,  and  by  means  of  it. 

And  first.  This  life  is  immortal.  And  how  much  this 
means,  we  shall  learn  best,  by  placing  it  in  contrast 
with  another  form  of  life,  with  which  we  are  better  ac- 
quainted. For  our  Lord,  previously  to  his  going  down 
to  the  grave,  was  mortal,  and  led  a  life,  in  most  respects 
at  least,  like  that  with  which  we,  heirs  of  mortality,  are 
but  too  sadly  familiar.  For  even  his  alliance  with  di- 
vinity did  not  operate  to  lift  him  above  the  ills,  mis- 
fortunes and  exposures,  incident  to  that  style  of  life 
which  he  had  graciously  assumed.  "  For  as  much  as 
the  children  were  partakers  of  flesh  and  blood,  he  also 
himself  likewise  took  part  of  the  same;"  and,  in  his 
*  Easter  Day. 


292  SERMON  XXV. 

generous  condescension,  he  refrained  from  a  participa- 
tion in  nothing  that  was  proper  to  the  nature  he  had 
taken  upon  him,  but  was  "in  all  things  made  like  unto 
his  brethren." 

Now,  how  much  mortality  means  we  know  full  well ; 
we  see  it  in  our  dying  friends,  we  feel  it  in  ourselves. 
We  do  nothing,  we  purpose  nothing,  we  hope  for  no- 
thing, without  feeling  "the  sentence  of  death  in  our- 
selves," to  mar  our  pleasure  and  abate  our  energy. 
Over  all  our  prospects  the  dark  wing  of  the  death  angel 
droops,  and  tarnishes  them  all  with  its  gloomy  shadow. 
We  have  nothing,  without  the  accompanying  convic- 
tion that  our  possession  is  at  once  brief  and  uncertain. 
And  life  is  not  only  thus  full  of  the  expectation  of 
death,  but  also  of  its  preludes.  There  are  symptoms 
of  mortality  always  attending  us,  evidences  too  obtru- 
sive and  plain  to  be  overlooked  or  mistaken,  that  we 
are  made  of  dust,  that  we  are  heirs  of  corruption,  that 
we  are  sliding  back,  by  a  process  which  nothing  but 
the  hand  of  Omnipotence  stays,  to  our  native  clay, 
"earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust." 

Our  Lord's  life  on  earth  was  in  this  respect  like 
ours,  mortal  also,  temporary,  evanescent,  ever  sliding 
away,  always  ready  to  disappear.  And  his  human  na- 
ture was  not  superior  to  that  aversion,  that  strong  an- 
tipathy and  horror,  with  which  whatsoever  is  human, 
it  might  seem,  cannot  choose  but  regard  the  approach 
of  its  great  enemy.  He  too  had  no  purposes,  no  hopes, 
across  which  death  did  not  throw  a  shadow  of  darkness 
and  vanity.  The  realization  of  them  lay  all  beyond 
its  dreary  chasm,  and  could  only  be  reached  by  sinking 


CHRIST'S  HEAVENLY  LIFE.  93 

into  it,  and  emerging,  at  the  close  of  a  secret,  mysterious, 
fearful  process,  on  its  farther  shore.  "Verily,  verily," 
says  he,  "except  a  corn  of  wheat  fall  into  the  ground 
and  die,  it  abideth  alone;  but  if  it  die,  it  bringeth 
forth  much  fruit." 

But  "  Christ,  being  raised  from  the  dead,  dieth  no 
more,"  has  gained  an  existence  liable  to  no  such  cessa- 
tion, interruption,  eclipse,  an  existence  in  a  world 
whose  "sun  shall  no  more  go  down,"  where  hope  and 
purpose  and  exertion  stretch  out  in  unbroken  cer- 
tainty and  continuity,  and  spread  forth  in  interminable 
and  ever  growing  development.  There  is  no  longer 
any  exposure  to  decay  or  failure,  to  stoppage  or  frus- 
tration. The  river  of  pleasure  runs,  and  as  it  runs, 
widens,  deepens,  forever.  There  is  no  sickening  sense 
of  uncertainty,  no  painful  apprehension  of  an  end. 
Jesus  our  Lord  has  reached  a  country  where  life  can 
know  no  change  but  by  augmentation,  the  gathering 
of  fresh  strength,  activity  and  enjoyment. 

Secondly,  This  life  is  one  of  unmixed  happiness. 
The  present  life  of  mortals  is  one  of  annoyance,  vexa- 
tion and  sorrow.  Jesus  was  mortal,  and  was  exempt 
from  none  of  the  ills  which  afflict  mortality.  But  oh  1 
what  a  change  was  wrought  in  him  by  death.  The 
grim  healer,  by  a  single  stroke  that  seemed  to  destroy 
him,  rendered  him  invulnerable,  incapable  of  sorrow 
and  suffering  forever,  eternally  secure  against  their  ap- 
proaches. Here,  "his  visage  was  marred  more  than 
any  man,  and  his  form  more  than  the  sons  of  men." 
His  eminence  in  pain  entitled  him  to  be  called  the 
"man  of  sorrows."     But  it  was  "for  the  joy  that  was 


294  SERMON  XXV. 

set  before  him"  that  he  "endured  the  cross,  despising 
the  shame;"  and  now,  he  is  "set  down  on  the  right 
hand  of  the  throne  of  God." 

Life  is  a  good,  only  as  it  involves  a  capacity  of  en- 
joyment, and  affords  an  opportunity  for  it.  Hence  the 
conscious  existence  of  lost  beings  is  not  called  life,  but 
everlasting  death.  "It  is  not  all  of  life  to  live."  A 
mere  continuance  of  being,  separated  from  the  pleasura- 
ble sense  of  existence  which  arises  from  inward  and 
outward  sources  of  satisfaction,  is  not  desirable.  Blank 
nihility,  dark  and  awful  as  it  seems,  is  far  better. 
Lost  souls  would  count  him  indeed  a  benefactor,  who 
should  offer  to  extinguish  the  intense  consciousness  of 
existence  which  is  only  anguish,  and  cut  the  thread  of 
their  long-drawn  miseries.  Life,  to  be  worthy  of  its 
name,  must  have  happiness ;  and  perfect  life  have  perfect 
happiness. 

But  mortal  life  possesses  this  essential  ingredient 
scantily.  It  is  "full  of  trouble."  It  begins  in  a  wail, 
fit  prelude  of  the  days  of  mourning  which  it  ushers  in. 
Few  are  there  that  are  not  tempted  to  say  at  times 
with  the  sage  king:  "I  praised  the  dead  that  are  al- 
ready dead  more  than  the  living  that  are  yet  alive:" 
"  Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit ;  " 
and  exclaim  with  the  sorrowful  man  of  Uz :  "  I  loathe 
it:  I  would  not  live  always."  And  the  most  philosophical 
view  of  life  that  we  are  able  to  take,  will  not  persuade 
us  out  of  the  conviction  which  our  natural  sensibility 
forces  upon  us,  that  we  are  appointed  to  affliction. 
Earthly  existence  then  is  hardly  life,  so  sparingly  is 
that  element  afforded  to  it  which  alone  makes  it  life. 


CHRIST'S  HEAVENLY  LIFE.  295 

And  Jesus,  though  he  came  from  a  sphere  of  unmixed 
happiness,  enjoyed  no  superiority  to  other  men  in  this 
respect.  Coming  into  a  clime  where  sorrow  was  indi- 
genous, companying  with  beings  to  whom  grief  is  na- 
tural, he  submitted  to  the  common  condition  of  his 
new  abode  and  fellowship,  and  was  "acquainted  with 
grief."  None  of  the  evils  which  deform  the  state  of 
mankind  passed  him  over;  and  to  some,  which  lightly 
touch  ordinary  men,  his  quicker  spiritual  perceptions 
and  tenderer  moral  sensibilities  rendered  him  especially 
liable.  He  "endured  the  contradiction  of  sinners 
against  himself,"  and  wept  more  for  sin  and  the  danger 
of  transgressors,  than  for  all  the  deprivations,  insults 
and  injuries  which  visited  himself. 

But  death  quenched  his  sorrows;  and  when  he  lived 
again,  he  could  be  said  to  live,  in  a  much  higher  and 
truer  sense,  than  it  ever  could  be  said  of  him  before. 
For  now  the  element  of  life  was  poured  into  his  being 
in  a  much  richer  plenitude,  yea,  without  stint,  and  so 
abundantly  as  to  absorb  and  exterminate  the  meaner 
elements  which  had  before  oppressed  and  over-mastered 
it.  And  now  he  liveth  indeed,  a  life  whose  pulses  all 
yield  delight,  whose  every  action  and  occurrence  is  an 
occasion  of  felicity,  whose  current  henceforward  flows 
in  one  constant  stream  of  pure,  noble  and  unmingled 
pleasure.  Life  has  escaped  out  of  bondage  to  the  in- 
fluence of  a  corruptible  body  and  an  inclement  and 
sinful  world,  and  attained  the  perfect  realization  of  its 
own  true  and  glorious  ideal. 

Thirdly,  This  life  is  one  of  triumph  and  manifesta- 
tion.    Jesus  lived  a  Saviour.    This  was  the  very  mean- 


296  SERMON  XXV. 

ing  and  purpose  of  that  peculiar  form  of  life  which  ho 
assumed  by  adopting  "the  likeness  of  sinful  flesh." 
But  during  his  continuance  on  earth,  his  success  Tvas 
greatly  limited,  and  his  dignity  grievously  obscured. 
The  official  life,  for  which  his  physical  life  had  taken 
its  special  shape,  never  advanced  beyond  its  embryo 
while  he  dwelt  on  earth.  The  multitude  did  not  recog- 
nise it  at  all ;  and  the  few  who  looked  upon  it  with 
more  enlightened  eyes  understood  it  but  partially.  All 
was  then  crude,  inceptive,  ambiguous.  And  the  same 
circumstances  that  obscured  his  office,  also  cramped 
him  in  the  exercise  of  its  functions.  Indeed  its  princi- 
pal, its  most  characteristic  purpose  could  not  be  accom- 
plished but  by  the  act  of  dying.  It  was  on  the  cross 
that  the  great  labour  of  salvation  was  performed,  the 
chief  errand  of  his  mission  displayed. 

But  from  the  grave  Jesus  emerged  with  greatly  aug- 
mented dignity  and  power,  "declared  to  be  the  Son 
of  God  with  power  by  the  resurrection  from  the  dead," 
"able  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all  who  come  unto  God 
by  him."  The  meaning  of  his  life  is  now  not  dubious. 
No  man  now  looks  at  the  carpenter's  son,  the  peasant, 
the  wandering  preacher,  and  finds  it  difficult  to  be- 
lieve that  he  is  "the  Author  of  eternal  salvation." 
The  shade  has  passed  off,  the  veil  is  removed.  He 
stands  disclosed,  "  exalted  to  be  a  Prince  and  a  Sa- 
viour," having  "all  power  in  heaven  and  in  earth." 
He  is  no  longer  restricted,  by  the  conditions  of  the  im- 
perfect and  preparatory  stage  of  his  work,  to  do  a  few 
miracles,  to  shed  a  few  beams  of  light  on  a  few  dark 
minds.     He  fills  the  throne  of  the  universe.     He  sends 


CHRIST'S  HEAVENLY  LIFE.  297 

abroad  his  universal  proclamation  of  mercy.  He  works 
by  the  energy  of  his  truth  and  grace  in  all  parts  of 
the  world.  He  shines  with  resplendent  lustre,  "the 
Light  of  the  world,"  ''the  Sun  of  righteousness,"  "the 
bright  and  mornino;  Star." 

How  much  higher  then  is  the  style  of  life  which  the 
Saviour  of  men  has  reached  through  the  process  of 
dissolution  and  recovery !  The  temporal  life  was  but 
the  poor  rudiment  of  the  heavenly ;  in  comparison  of 
it,  scarcely  a  life  at  all.  In  important  senses  death 
was  to  him  the  beginning  of  his  real  life ;  so  highly 
improved  was  it  by  its  kindly  operation,  as  we  have 
seen,  in  its  durability,  its  character  and  its  uses.  Be- 
fore, weak,  unconscious,  inefficient  infancy,  now,  strong, 
majestic,  powerful  manhood;  before,  a  worm,  prone, 
grovelling,  unsightly,  now,  the  butterfly,  alert,  aerial, 
splendid;  before,  the  little  germ  in  the  seed,  tender 
and  questionable,  now,  the  sturdy  oak,  expanded  in 
height  and  compass,  strengthened  into  vigour  and  firm- 
ness. Evidently  death  has  been  a  great  benefactor 
to  our  Master.  Let  us  see  then,  if  it  does  not  promise 
to  perform  an  equally  friendly  office  for  his  people. 

Among  his  precious  promises  we  find  this :  "  Because 
I  live,  ye  shall  live  also."  And  does  not  this  involve 
all  that  they  can  desire  in  this  respect,  conformity  to 
his  death, — participation  in  his  resurrection  and  its 
happy  issues, — revival,  after  a  temporary  sleep  of  the 
flesh,  a  transient  separation  of  body  and  spirit,  to  a 
better  life,  a  life  of  endless  duration,  of  unalloyed  en- 
joyment, of  exalted  dignity  and  power?  We  are  so 
joined  to  our  Lord  that  our  fortunes  are  one;  and 
26 


298  SERMON  XXV. 

•whatsoever  death  was  to  him,  it  shall  be  to  us.  Our 
true  life  is  yet  to  begin,  to  be  extricated  out  of  its 
present  embarrassments  and  disadvantages,  and  become 
angelic,  heavenly,  divine. 

Hence  we  draw  hope  and  encouragement  concerning 
the  dead  who  "sleep  in  Jesus."  He  lives,  they  also 
live.  And  this  word  has  in  respect  to  them  a  much 
more  pregnant  and  delightful  meaning  than  it  has  in 
its  application  to  us.  Oh  yes,  life  is  indeed  a  different 
thing  to  them  from  our  life,  a  far  better,  nobler,  hap- 
pier. "Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord,  for 
they  rest  from  their  labours,  and  their  works  do  follow 
them."  The  emancipated  spirit  soars  into  the  pure 
air  of  paradise,  up-springs  into  the  beatific  presence  of 
God,  joins  the  company  of  angels  and  "the  spirits  of 
just  men  made  perfect."  They  are  forever  done  with 
pain,  weakness,  fatigue,  want,  sorrow,  fear,  above  all, 
with  sin.  God  has  wiped  all  tears  from  off  their  faces. 
Their  hope  is  merged  in  vision;  they  have  already 
reached  the  verge  of  the  perfect  consummation  of  bliss 
in  body  and  soul,  and  they  shall  soon  attain  its  fulness. 
Oh!  surely,  they  whisper  to  us  from  their  bright  abodes, 
Weep  not  for  me,  but  for  yourselves. 

Hence  also  we  draw  a  lesson  of  mingled  admonition 
and  encouragement  for  ourselves.  The  whole  subject 
exhibits  to  us  very  solemnly  the  importance  of  being 
united  with  Christ,  so  identified  with  him  that  his  des- 
tiny may  draw  ours  in  its  train,  that  his  life  may  be- 
come the  security  and  pledge  of  ours.  If  with  us  "  to 
live  is  Christ,"  then  "to  die  is  gain."  What  admoni- 
tion and  encouragement  is  here  to  the  adoption  and 


Christ's  heavenly  life.  299 

maintenance  of  a  Christian  life.  The  life  that  is  to 
be  immortally  happy  and  honourable  has  its  seed  here, 
in  that  new  life  which  the  Spirit  of  God  implants  and 
nourishes  in  the  souls  of  believers, — is,  in  fact,  but  its 
maturing,  its  perfection,  its  full  development.  Here 
it  is  to  be  begun,  here  it  is  to  be  nurtured,  here  it  is 
to  be  formed  and  strengthened.  The  rough  discipline, 
the  painful  service,  of  this  transitory  state  are  its  best, 
its  needful  culture. 

We  recommend  to  you  then  the  Christian  life,  the 
pledge  of  a  glorious  life  in  the  realms  above,  the  indis- 
pensable qualification  for  it.  A  worldly,  a  sensual 
life  can  yield  none  but  the  appropriate  fruits  of  disap- 
pointment and  misery.  "Be  not  deceived;  God  is 
not  mocked;  for  whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that  shall 
he  also  reap.  He  that  soweth  to  his  flesh,  shall  of  the 
flesh  reap  corruption ;  but  he  that  soweth  to  the  Spirit, 
shall  of  the  Spirit  reap  life  everlasting." 


300  BERMON  XXVI. 


SERMON    XXYI. 

THE    STATE   OF    THE    DEAD. 
Man  giveth  up  the  ghost,  and  -where  is  he? — Job  xiv.  10. 

The  stage  of  human  existence  wliich  intervenes  be- 
tween death  and  the  resurrection,  is  naturally  regarded 
bj  us  with  great  curiosity  and  solicitude.  We  live 
not  far  from  its  borders ;  we  are  rapidly  drawing  near 
to  an  entrance  into  it ;  and  we  can  never  tell  how  soon 
we  may  be  called  to  penetrate  its  secrets,  and  know 
what  it  is  by  experience.  We  are  ever  walking  by 
the  edge  of  a  dark  chasm,  and  know  that  we  must  ere 
long  fathom  its  depths.  We  cannot  be  indifferent  to 
their  nature,  or  fail  to  be  inquisitive  in  regard  to  the 
provision  which  they  contain  for  our  comfort  and  hap- 
piness during  our  long  residence  in  their  obscure  re- 
cesses. Who  indeed  can  refrain  from  often  asking  the 
question.  What  sort  of  a  world  is  that  to  which  I  am 
going?  What  is  the  character  of  that  existence  on 
which  I  must  shortly  enter  ?  To  this  question  none 
but  a  vague  and  unsatisfactory  answer  is  returned. 
Nature  is  silent,  and  revelation  does  but  whisper  faintly 
and  vaguely.  We  are  able  to  form  a  much  more  dis- 
tinct conception  of  the  heavenly  state,  than  of  that 
"which  immediately  precedes  it. 

The  final  condition  of  man  is  much  more  analogous 


THE  STATE  OF  THE  DEAD.  801 

toliis  present  state,  than  that  which  intervenes  between 
the  two.  At  death  we  enter  upon  a  disembodied  state 
of  being,  a  state  of  life  purely  spiritual  and  immaterial. 
Of  this  we  have  no  knowledge  from  experience  or  ob- 
servation ;  and  we  can  form  no  clear  and  satisfactory 
conception  of  it.  We  are  so  accustomed  to  the  use  of 
material  organs  and  instruments,  that  we  cannot  un- 
derstand how  we  can  do  without  them.  Incorporeal 
life  seems  to  us  impotent,  cheerless,  naked,  unreal. 
We  shrink  from  the  fearful  experiment  of  it.  Even 
St.  Paul,  in  the  longing  and  rapturous  expectation  of 
immortality  which  filled  him,  interjected,  "Not  for 
that  we  would  be  unclothed."  The  life  that  leaves 
the  body  to  the  indignities  of  the  grave,  that  discards 
matter,  that  loses  all  that  we  are  wont  to  regard  as 
substance,  and  soars  away  in  company  only  with  that 
w^hich  completely  eludes  our  senses,  and  is  utterly  un- 
furnished with  such  instruments  of  knowledge  and 
action  as  we  have  always  found  indispensable,  will 
seem  to  us  visionary  and  unreal.  The  resurrection, 
which  is  to  give  man  back  his  old  materiality,  clothes 
life  again  with  substance  and  reality.  But  what  is  he 
to  do,  what  is  he  to  be,  in  the  long  interstice  that 
stands  between  it  and  the  present  life  ?  "  Man  giveth 
up  the  ghost,  and  where  is  he?"  What,  where  are 
all  they — the  loved  and  lost — that  have  vanished  from 
our  side  during  the  period  of  our  earthly  sojourn? — 
What,  where,  shall  we  be,  when  in  a  few  short  years 
we  shall  all  be  added  to  their  company  ? 

Now,  to  this  question,  it  has  been  already  intimated, 
no  very  full  and  satisfactory  answer  can  be  rendered. 

26* 


302  SERMON  XXVI. 

Mystery  broods  over  the  intermediate  state,  mystery 
too  deep  for  man  to  penetrate.  A  feAV  hints  alone  are 
given,  to  lessen,  if  not  to  appease,  our  anxiety.  The 
souls  of  men  after  death  remain  conscious,  continue 
still  percipient  and  active;  and  "the  souls  of  the  right- 
eous after  they  are  delivered  from  the  burden  of  the 
flesh  are  in  joy  and  felicity."  But  how  perception 
and  activity  are  maintained  without  bodily  organs,  or 
in  what  the  joy  and  felicity  of  the  departed  righteous 
consist,  we  are  not  particularly  informed.  There  is  a 
wide  sea  of  conjecture  open,  but  sober  minds  will  be 
slow  to  embark  upon  its  bosom.  Minute  information 
concerning  the  intermediate  state  we  cannot  have,  for 
God  has  seen  fit  to  seal  it  up  from  our  inspection.  But 
meanwhile,  some  general  truths  we  may  gather;  and 
these,  if  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  our  desires,  may  at  least 
serve  to  allay  our  anxiety. 

And  first,  then,  we  seem  warranted  in  regarding  the 
interval  between  death  and  the  resurrection  as  a  period 
of  repose.  It  is  often  called  sleep,  indeed,  perhaps  this 
is  its  most  common  representation.  There  is  perhaps 
no  idea  that  it  more  commonly  suggests  than  that  of 
tranquillity,  the  cessation  of  labour  and  of  disturbance. 
It  is  the  sleeping  time  of  humanity.  Intermediate  be- 
tween the  work  of  life  and  the  waking  of  the  resur- 
rection, it  is  characterized  perhaps  more  than  by  any- 
thing else  as  the  state  of  rest  and  quietude.  The  busi- 
ness of  life  is  done,  and  the  trial  of  life  is  ended;  and 
weary  men,  emancipated  at  last  from  the  doom  of  toil 
and  endurance,  rest  from  their  labours  and  their  suf- 
ferings, and  groan  no  more  under  the  crushing  burden 


THE  STATE  OF  THE  DEAD.  303 

of  life's  tasks  and  pains.  Labour  has  reached  its  end, 
and  "patience  has  had  its  perfect  work."  "He  shall 
enter  into  peace,"  says  the  prophet,  "they  shall  rest 
in  their  beds,  each  one  walking  in  his  uprightness." 
And  this  view  alone,  were  there  no  prospect  of  positive 
enjoyment  opened  to  us  in  the  disembodied  state,  might 
reconcile  us  to  its  approach,  nay,  cause  us  to  sigh  for 
its  arrival.  Only  assure  us  that  there  "the  wicked 
shall  cease  from  troubling  and  the  weary  be  at  rest," 
that  there  no  harrowing  care,  no  wasting  toil  shall  reach 
us,  that  there  there  no  longer  shall  be  the  necessity  of  un- 
pleasant exertion,  or  exposure  to  the  assaults  of  pain 
and  trouble,  and  we  will  welcome  the  summons  that 
calls  us  to  the  land  of  spirits,  and  pass  to  it  joyfully, 
even  through  the  dark  and  forbidding  portal  of  the 
grave.  Only  let  us  retain  consciousness,  that  we  may 
feel  that  our  task  is  done,  that  our  warfare  is  accom- 
plished, that  the  load  is  lifted  from  our  shoulder,  that 
no  reluctant  or  painful  effort  will  ever  be  again  put 
forth,  no  vexing  thoughts  arise,  no  sorrowing  regret 
or  mournful  foreboding  visit  us,  but,  in  perfect  free- 
dom from  all  causes  of  molestation  or  disturbance,  the 
quiet  days  that  number  out  our  sojourning  there  flow 
on,  and  we  shall  not  lack  the  means  of  a  very  high 
and  exquisite  satisfaction. 

The  repose  that  awaits  us  there  will  be  all  the  more 
welcome  and  delightful  from  contrast  with  the  turmoil 
and  vexation  of  the  life  that  precedes  it.  Our  whole 
outward  and  inward  life  in  the  flesh  is  a  task  and  a 
trial.  Seek  to  disguise  it  as  we  may  from  ourselves 
or  others,  our  inward  feeling  is  that  "we  that  are  in 


804  SERMON  XXVI. 

this  tabernacle  do  groan  being  burdened."  Without, 
we  are  always  putting  forth  endeavours,  few  of  them 
pleasurable,  many  painful,  to  attain  that  which  either 
eludes  our  grasp,  or  ill  requites  our  exertions.  Within, 
are  the  fever  of  desire,  the  bitterness  of  disappoint- 
ment, the  sense  of  meanness  and  imperfection  and  sin, 
the  painful  processes  of  self-culture,  the  mortifying 
sense  that  we  are  not  what  we  would  be,  the  uncomforta- 
ble feeling  of  our  own  impotency,  the  disheartening 
conviction  that  we  essay  our  work  with  insufficient 
powers  and  inadequate  successes.  But  there,  we  shall 
feel  that  our  last  task  is  done,  our  last  sigh  breathed, 
our  last  tear  shed,  our  last  pain  ended.  Life  will  stretch 
out  in  an  unbroken  expanse  of  tranquillity,  "a  sea  of 
glass,  clear  as  crystal, "  ruffled  by  no  wave,  reflecting 
from  its  placid  bosom  the  image  of  a  serene  and  cloud- 
less heaven.  And  tranquillity,  to  those  who  have  never 
known  it  before,  will  itself  be  bliss. 

But  again,  the  intermediate  state  will  be  a  condition 
of  progress.  Progress  is  the  law  of  life,  and  we  cannot 
reasonably  suppose  that  its  operation  will  be  suspended 
during  that  long  period  which  is  to  elapse  between 
death  and  the  resurrection.  The  intermediate  state 
may,  I  have  thought,  be  considered  as  the  period  of 
contemplation,  in  contradistinction  from  the  activity 
which  characterizes  the  present  life.  It  is,  if  I  may 
so  say,  humanity's  leisure  hour,  during  which,  secluded 
from  the  engrossing  cares  and  distracting  influences  to 
which  it  is  subjected  here,  it  may  give  itself  up  undi- 
videdly  to  meditation  and  reflection.  There,  it  may 
review  the  past,  think  over  its  former  history,  discover 


THE  STATE  OF  THE  DEAD.  305 

and  estimate  its  faults  and  errors,  retrace  the  path  by 
which  God  led  it  through  its  earthly  pilgrimage,  and 
find  its  retrospect  full  of  incitements  to  humility,  ad- 
miration, gratitude  and  self-consecration. 

Then,  too,  to  the  clearer  vision  of  spirit  purged  from 
fleshly  films  and  earthly  obstructions,  will  truth  unfold 
itself  with  increased  clearness,  certainty  and  power. 
"Now  we  see  through  a  glass  darkly;  but  then  face 
to  face.    Now  we  know  in  part,  but  then  shall  we  know 
even  as  also  we  are  known."     The  era  of  indistinct- 
ness and  uncertainty  will  have  passed  away.     The 
mind's  view  of  truth  will  be  direct,  intuitive ;  and  as 
the  result,  its  knowledge  and  belief,  absolute,  definite, 
firm.     There  will  be  an  end  to  the  question,  "What 
is  truth?"     No  more  shall  we  have  occasion  to  pray, 
"Lord!  I  believe,  help  thou  mine  unbelief."     And  it 
is  apparent  that  this  fuller  light  of  truth  must  be  at- 
tended with  an  increased  power  of  impression,  and 
with  all  those  efi"ects  on  the  sentiments  and  character 
which  naturally  result  from  it.     Even  here,  truth  is 
the  instrument,  the  indispensable  instrument,  of  sancti- 
fication.     "  Sanctify  them  through  thy  truth,"  was  the 
parting  prayer  of  the  Saviour  for  his  disciples.    Truth, 
in  the  disembodied  state,  in  proportion  to  the  greater 
clearness  and  fulness  of  its  manifestation  to  the  soul, 
will  have  increased  opportunity  of  performing  its  ap- 
propriate, peculiar  office.     Faith  there  must  be  a  very 
different  thing  from  that  dim  and  wavering  recognition 
of  things  unseen,  which  is  all  it  ever  can  be  here. 
Faith  there  will  live  on  perception,  not  as  now,  on  tes- 
timony.    The  soul  will  have  direct  access  to  the  ob- 


306  SERMON  XXVI. 

jects  of  faith.  All  that  it  embraces  will  stand  out 
before  the  mind  in  living  substance  and  reality. 
Surely,  under  such  circumstances,  the  soul  will  not 
pass  its  time  idly  and  unprofitably.  In  a  condition  so 
favourable  to  it,  there  will  be  spiritual  growth.  Even 
now,  the  apostle  describes  the  effect  of  devout  and  be- 
lieving contemplation  to  be  assimilation.  By  it,  says 
he,  we  are  "  changed  into  the  same  image  from  glory 
to  glory."  How  much  more  rapidly  and  effectually 
shall  this  be  done,  when  contemplation  shall  be  so  much 
more  vivid  and  affecting  ? 

Far,  very  far,  then,  will  that  pause  which  will  suc- 
ceed the  event  of  death  be  from  being  a  useless  and 
barren  interval,  a  mere  syncope  and  blank  in  our  ex- 
istence, a  period  of  unprofitable  indolence  and  dreamy 
repose.  Oh  no.  Although  it  is  probable,  that  during 
it,  we  shall  be  the  passive  recipients  of  impressions  from 
without,  rather  than  agents  in  putting  forth  a  voluntary 
activity,  it  will  be  far  from  an  unproductive  and  sta- 
tionary season.  There  will  be  flowing  in  upon  the  soul 
continually  influences  calculated  to  strengthen  and 
exalt  it.  It  will  be  heaping  up  treasures  of  knowledge 
and  experience.  The  difficulties  that  once  perplexed 
it  will  be  solved,  contradictions  reconciled,  mysteries 
unveiled,  gaps  in  the  system  of  truth  filled  up,  dim 
glimpses  and  surmises  turned  into  clear  and  certain 
discoveries.  The  mind  and  heart  will  be  kept  in  per- 
petual employment  and  play.  The  religious  sentiments 
and  affections  will  be  gradually  developed  and  strength- 
ened ;  and  the  soul  will  be  hourly  ripening  for  "  the  glory 
that  shall  be  revealed  to  it  at. the  appearing  of  Jesus 


THE  STATE  OF  THE  DEAD.  307 

Christ."  Oh  then,  let  us  not  think  that  the  state  of  the 
dead  is  all  dreariness,  vacuity  and  desolation,  or,  at  the 
best,  a  negative  and  barren  quietude.  There  is  employ- 
ment for  the  disembodied  soul  at  once  profitable  and 
delightful,  and  affording  it  no  mean  earnest  and  fore- 
taste of  its  heavenly  condition. 

Once  more,  the  separate  state  will  be  a  condition  of 
hope.  It  is  a  season  of  waiting,  the  vestibule  only  of 
a  more  glorious  state  to  which  it  is  introductory.  And 
they  who  are  passing  through  it  feel  that  they  are  tem- 
porary sojourners,  and  are  "looking  for  and  hasting 
unto  the  coming  of  the  day  of  God."  But  there  is 
nothing  in  this  waiting  that  is  wearisome  or  tedious. 
Hope^heds  so  bright  an  effulgence  over  the  present, 
as  renders  it  almost  heavenly.  They  inhabit  a  land 
nearer  the  presence  chamber  of  God  than  ours,  and 
doubtless  enjoy  a  much  clearer  vision  of  its  reality 
and  its  bliss.  As  they  dwell  upon  its  borders,  so  they 
are  permitted  to  look  across  them  into  its  happy  scenes. 
Its  light  shines  upon  them,  and  its  airs  reach  them 
loaded  with  the  perfume  of  its  delicious  and  life-inspi- 
ring fruits.  The  hope  of  the  dead  is  doubtless  a  far 
better  thing  than  the  hope  of  the  living,  improved  by 
the  change  of  their  relation  to  eternal  rewards,  as 
well  as  by  their  greater  proximity  to  them.  Ours  is 
a  state  of  probation,  and  our  hope  can  be  at  the  best 
but  a  probationer's  hope,  a  hope  that  always  must  be 
mingled  with  fear,  while  yet  that  possibility  of  losing 
the  prize  which  attaches  to  the  very  idea  of  probation 
remains,  and  the  motions  of  sins  within  us  continually 
remind  us  of  imperfection  and  weakness.  But  the 
dead  that  are  at  rest  are  sinless.     The  alloy  of  corrup- 


308  SERMON  XXVI. 

tion  is  thoroughly  taken  away.  They  are  like  unto  the 
angels.  Their  fitness  for  heaven  is  perfect,  and  they 
only  wait  the  bidding  of  the  Master  to  enter  in.  Their 
eternal  state,  too,  is  fixed  and  irrevocable,  and  they 
know  it.  They  have  no  fear  of  losing  their  crown ; 
for  though  it  is  not  yet  placed  upon  their  brow,  their 
title  to  it  is  plain,  absolute,  irreversible.  Nothing  is 
wanting  but  actual  investiture.  The  judgment  to  them 
is  future  only  in  form  and  outward  array.  Its  award 
is  virtually  past.  Even  now  are  they  reaping  rich 
antepasts  of  the  felicity  it  promises.  Feeling  them- 
selves perfectly  meet  for  heaven,  and  perfectly  sure  of 
it,  their  hope  is  unanxious,  vivid,  full.  Such  a  hope, 
we,  in  this  dim  and  distant  world,  know  nothing  of, 
encumbered  with  the  grossness  of  the  flesh,  and  vexed 
with  the  workings  of  remaining  sinfulness.  It  is  a 
hope  that  approximates  closely  to  fruition,  that  is,  as 
it  were,  always  preluding  and  melting  into  the  happi- 
ness it  foresees,  a  hope  indeed  full  of  immortality. 

It  is  easy,  then,  to  see  how  the  state  of  the  dead, 
embracing  ease  from  all  molestation,  delightful  and 
profitable  employment  for  the  mind,  with  a  resulting 
sense  of  continual  progress  in  knowledge  and  holiness, 
and  a  vivid  and  entrancing  foresight  of  richer  glories 
secure  and  near  at  hand,  contains  in  it  the  elements 
of  a  great  and  inconceivable  felicity ;  and  how  well 
we  may  acquiesce  in  the  Apostle's  judgment,  that  "to 
die  is  gain." 

Thus  have  I  endeavoured  to  render  such  answer  to 
the  question  of  the  text  as  with  our  present  limited 
degree  of  knowledge  we  are  authorized  to  give.  We 
cannot  tell  you  what  locality  the  dead  inhabit,  what 


THE  STATE  OF  THE  DEAD.  309 

province  of  the  universe  is  assigned  for  their  abode ; 
nor  can  we  describe  to  you  the  forms  and  functions  of 
purely  spiritual  and  incorporeal  life.  But  we  can  tell 
you  that  they  live,  and  are  conscious  of  life ;  that  they 
dwell  in  a  world  fitted  to  their  nature  and  their  wants ; 
and  that  in  it  their  condition  is  one  of  rest,  progress  and 
delightful  anticipation,  a  condition  so  much  above  the 
poor  life  we  are  leading  in  these  earthly  scenes,  that 
we  are  subjects  of  their  commiseration,  not  they  of 
ours,  they  of  our  congratulation,  not  we  of  theirs. 

In  all  that  I  have  said,  you  will  perceive,  that  I 
have  spoken  of  the  holy  dead,  of  those  who  "  sleep  in  Je- 
sus," who  during  their  earthly  pilgrimage  have  walked 
by  faith  and  served  God  in  their  generation.  But  to 
the  wicked,  also,  there  is  an  interval  between  death 
and  resurrection,  an  intermediate  period,  a  separate 
state,  to  them  as  well  as  to  the  righteous  a  conscious 
and  progressive  life ;  but,  alas  1  of  what  opposite  qua- 
lities !  for  rest,  disquiet ;  for  improvement,  deteriora- 
tion; for  hope,  the  "fearful  looking-for  of  judgment;" 
for  earnests  of  heaven,  the  bitter  foretastes  of  eternal 
death.  I  dwell  not  on  the  theme ;  I  mention  it  but 
for  caution.  Our  business  this  morning  is  with  the 
more  grateful  contemplation  of  the  departed  righte- 
ous. 

In  view  of  our  subject  we  find  consolation  for  the 
bereaved.  Our  friends  are  vanishing  from  our  side. 
They  have  passed  into  the  invisible  world.  The  places 
that  knew  them,  know  them  no  more.  But  they  "all 
live  unto  Him,"  into  whose  more  immediate  presence 
and  charge  they  have  passed.  They  are  not  dead 
27 


310  SERMON  XXVI. 

but  sleep.  They  have  entered  into  no  condition  of  in- 
sensate oblivion,  or  dreary  indolence.  It  is  but 
rest  after  weary  toil  and  wearing  trial,  the  rest  of 
happy  retrospection  and  joyful  hope,  wherein  the 
*soul,  free  from  the  clogs  and  burdens  of  the  flesh,  waits 
in  such  bliss  as  is  almost  heavenly,  the  call  that  shall 
summon  it  to  a  perfect  consummation  of  its  joy  both 
in  body  and  soul  in  heaven  itself.  Enviable,  happy 
change!  Well  might  the  wise  man  say,  "I  praised 
the  dead  that  are  already  dead,  more  than  the  living 
that  are  yet  alive." 

Finally,  in  this  view  we  find  comfort  in  the  pros- 
pect of  our  own  approaching  departure.  Our  friends 
that  have  passed  out  of  our  sight  have  not  gone  long  be- 
fore us.  The  procession  of  the  living  to  the  country 
of  the  dead  is  ever  moving  onward,  and  we  are  moving 
in  it.  Why  should  we  fear  to  cross  its  borders?  It 
is  no  land  of  insensibility  or  cheerless  gloom.  There, 
is  rest  for  the  weary,  purity  and  strength  for  the 
weak  and  imperfect,  certain  and  joyful  hope  for  the 
fearful  and  faint-hearted.  We  leave  friends  but  to  re- 
gain friends  lost ;  we  turn  away  from  dim  views  and 
faint  anticipations  to  a  nearer  vision  and  richer, 
clearer  prelibations  of  final  glory.  When  there  is 
hardship  in  gain,  in  advancement,  in  nearer  ap- 
proach to  the  true  perfection  and  highest  bliss 
of  humanity,  then  may  the  Christian  fear  death. 
Wherefore,  my  beloved,  fear  not  to  die,  but  be  "  stead- 
fast, unmoveable,  always  abounding  in  the  work  of 
the  Lord,  forasmuch  as  ye  know  that  our  labour  shall 
not  be  in  vain  in  the  Lord." 

THE  END. 


BOOKS 

PUBLISHED   BY  HERMAN   HOOKER. 


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SEARCH  OF  TRUTH, 

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